


Counterbalance

by Aukum



Series: Angel Marco AU [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angel Marco Bott, Angels, Banter, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:04:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aukum/pseuds/Aukum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean always liked Marco but was too chicken to do anything that might jeopardize their friendship, not even in his imagination. It was a hard blow when Marco failed to return from Trost, but Jean coped by telling himself there was a silver lining: no need to worry now about awkward explanations if he's caught daydreaming.</p>
<p>Or so he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You need to get to higher ground!" 

"You think I don't know that?!" Jean screamed at the man perched safely on the roof of an old barn. 

Jean's lungs ached as he ran for cover. His horse was long dead – grabbed by an Aberrant Titan and torn apart in Jean's place when he tumbled from the saddle. The other men with him were complete strangers. The first time they had all seen or spoken to each other was just that morning and yet they risked their lives to go back for one clumsy kid. It was beyond stupid to go that far for just another new recruit. Jean wished he took the effort to learn their names. At least then he'd know who to thank at the fallen soldiers memorial if he managed to make it back. 

It should have been a simple trip beyond the walls. It wasn't even a full expedition with the goal of accomplishing anything noteworthy. It was supposed to be a simple, routine day trip for the purpose of getting the Scouting Legion's newest members some more experience. The trip was scheduled to last no more than a few hours – they were all supposed to be back in time for a late lunch. 

But then that Aberrant Titan came charging out of trees and sent the small expeditionary training force scattering in all directions. 

The land they were on was too flat to utilize their gear and none of them had the kind of skill needed to kill it from horseback. Their only choices were to try and outrun it or try to draw it to an abandoned homestead nearby where they could gain a slight territorial advantage. The smart choice was to run for the walls and hope they'd manage to cross paths with one of the more experienced squads out for patrol. Jean and a few other unlucky suckers were left with the Aberrant type between them and the safe choice, and with it staring at them, they had no choice but to try their luck at fighting back.

Now they were down to two men. The others were either dead or making their way back to the safety of the walls. 

Jean ducked under the massive hand and fired a hook into the side of an abandoned farm silo as the Aberrant type stumbled and fell. The reel screeched while the line retracted, the hook's points punching through the thin metal wall and threatening to dislodge as the line drew Jean up to the roof. The rusted metal crunched underfoot as he landed. The silo would not be sturdy enough to withstand an assault if the Aberrant type decided to charge at him. It could barely handle Jean's weight alone. In fact, none of the buildings were in good condition.

Jean looked to the man standing on the roof of the barn and saw the same thoughts passing through his mind. 

The only thing that appeared strong enough to support a battle was a lone giant tree, like the ones in that strange forest further south, standing all by itself a short distance from the barn. It was too far for Jean to reach with his hooks and a quick glance down at his gauges showed that his gas was nearly depleted. However, the tree was just close enough to the other man's position that he'd be able to use it to swing over to the dilapidated single storey homestead where his horse stood nearly, grazing on a bush.

"I'll kill the titan then go for help," the man said.

"Give me a boost!" Jean called over. 

If they timed it right, the other guy would be able to grab hold of Jean as they flew through the air and use their combined momentum to reach the horse without needing to waste their dwindling gas supplies. It was a manoeuvre that many of the trainees had been forced to practice over and over until they were completely sick of it. Jean hadn't been very good at it in the beginning and didn't see the point in getting better at a move with limited application, but Marco was a natural at it and he was determined to see that Jean's lack of skill wouldn't embarrass them both.

It wasn't that surprising in hindsight. It really was like Marco to be good at team tactics. Neither was it a surprise when Marco decided to coach everyone else when he realized just how good he was. And that was perfectly fine with Jean. It wasn't like being best friends meant he had a right to monopolize Marco's free time, after all. Jean really didn't have a problem with being left on his own like that… that is, up until the point when Marco got the idea in his head that Jean was avoiding him because the younger boy was ashamed of how bad he was at team manoeuvres, or something other stupid reason like that. 

Then Marco badgered Jean relentlessly. 

He didn't stop until Jean agreed to practice until he too was good enough to perform the manoeuvre in his sleep. And then, after they perfected that one move, Marco swiftly moved on to the next one on the list… with Jean backing him up, of course. Why? The hell if he knew. Marco took that secret to the grave, although he did promise to spill the beans one day. Maybe. If Jean stayed on his best behaviour and stopped picking fights all the time then he'd consider it, Marco had said. 

Jean thought it was a load of bullshit, but Marco always smiled so sweetly when he avoided answering a question he didn't want to that Jean never had the heart to argue. 

"I don't know about this," the other guy's voice broke through Jean's thoughts. 

Jean shook his head and sternly reminded himself of where he was and what was going on. Now was not the time to let his mind wander. He looked up and took in the doubt and anxiety crossing the other man's face and nearly swore. There were few other options left to Jean if he wanted to survive but that was not the case for the other guy. The smart choice would be to leave Jean behind and save himself.

There were few opportunities to use this manoeuvre in the field due to the presence of live steel in most people's hands but everyone should at least know how to do it. He was screwed if the guy chickened out. Jean choked down the words he wanted to let fly and forced an encouraging smile on his face. It looked more like a grimace.

"I'm almost out here," Jean shouted, pointing anxiously at his gas canisters. "I need you to give me a boost! So? Are you going to help me or abandon me? Hurry up and make up your mind! That thing's getting back up and when it does, we're both dead!" 

"F- fine! Let's do this then." The other man fired a hook into the tree and took a running start.

It wasn't exactly a response that inspired confidence but there were few other options at this point. Jean fired his hooks and leapt into the air, letting gravity do most of the work as he swung across the open space and perilously close to where the Aberrant was getting to its feet. Jean was reaching the apex of his swing and reached for the other man's hands as he swung close. 

And missed. 

Jean's eyes met the guy's as they passed. The guy's eyes were wide and his face pale. 

The bastard choked. He had seen the Aberrant type approach as he swung around the tree to gain the momentum needed to perform the manoeuvre, and choked. It was probably unconscious. It was probably pure instinctual fear that caused the guy's fingers to tighten on the triggers and release a small burst of gas, just enough to alter the trajectory to avoid the range of the titan's arms. It was a small error and an easy one to make. It was a rookie mistake. 

"I'm sorry," the guy said as he swung away to safety.

Yeah, Jean thought bitterly. No big deal. Your mistake just happened to become my death sentence.

Jean's heart leapt into his throat as he twisted in the air to reposition himself. The last remaining dregs of gas in the canisters were burned through in seconds as Jean propelled himself forward. He needed to close the distance between himself and the only structure he could conceivably reach from his position that wasn't the ground: the giant tree. He aimed his hooks at the giant tree, prayed desperately to whatever higher powers were out there watching over him that there would be enough gas left lurking in the tubes, and squeezed the triggers. 

He nearly cried in relief at the solid thump of the hooks embedding themselves in the wood. 

However, he didn't have any time to savour the near brush with death because seconds later, Jean slammed into the thick and unyielding trunk of the tree and a thousand white-hot stars burst inside his head. He dangled helplessly as he gasped for air. One arm instinctively, uselessly, clutched the wire while the other arm wrapped around his torso, nervously feeling for any bones broken from the impact. The last thing he needed now was a punctured lung.

Jean's ears rang and his eyes were having trouble focusing but he was aware enough to see fluttering green on the back of a rapidly retreating horse. 

That asshole. 

The childish and petty side of Jean that he never managed to completely eradicate was pleased to see a titan giving chase. It looked like that one preferred to hunt its prey rather than going for the easy kill. Too bad for that guy, Jean thought spitefully. He watched that damned coward and the titan disappear into the distance as he waited for his body to recover enough to move.

His head wouldn't stop spinning and it hurt to breathe. His side hurt. His arm hurt. The only good thing was that nothing hurt like it was broken, only bruised or slightly fractured. Jean was seriously considering the merits of dangling in the air like a bug caught in a spider's web until help came when he remembered that titans in this area knew how to jump and snatch at their prey. He was nowhere near high enough to avoid the jaws of a titan like that. 

Jean eyed the nearest branch above, which was several hundred metres up and happened to be the same one his hooks were lodged in. He looked down at the ground. It was much farther away and a few small titans were still wandering around the abandoned farmstead. He sighed wearily and grabbed hold of the rough bark to begin the long and arduous climb up. It was too far from the ground to lower himself safely and besides, injured and dazed as he was, it would only be a matter of time before something came by to finish him off. At least if he stayed high in the tree's branches, Jean could watch for anyone else stupid enough to mount a rescue operation for one guy. 

Yeah, that was a great plan. Assuming he didn't slip and fall to his death, Jean could camp out on the branch and slowly starve to death or die of exposure while waiting for a rescue that would likely never come. This farm wasn't even marked on the map.

Jean grunted and complained bitterly the whole way up. 

Whoever decided on the design of the uniform's pants never took scaling trees and buildings using manual power into consideration. The fabric bunched at his joints and dug in, threatening to cut off circulation every time Jean raised a leg to propel himself upward, the seams squashed things that he'd rather not have squished, and the material itself chafed and itched terribly where the harness belts were attached. 

If only he hadn't acted like a complete idiot blinded by grief, Jean swore, he would have been smart enough to take some of Marco's spare uniforms rather than let the military personnel pack everything away in a box to send to the Bodt family. What would they do with so many pairs of white pants, anyway? No one else was Marco's size. At least Jean could put them to good use. The uniform would've been a little loose but at least he'd be comfortable. 

Marco was a great guy, Jean told himself, he would have been okay with it. 

Guilt prickled. 

It felt like a familiar piercing stare fixed on the back of his head. It was probably just a titan watching his progress but Jean couldn't shake the feeling that the silence wasn't the absence of life but that of speechless indignation, and the heat on his neck wasn't the sun but anger and mortification. He grit his teeth. 

"Alright… alright! No, you wouldn't be okay with it and, yeah, I should know better. I'm sorry for even thinking about wearing your clothes, okay?!" The feeling eased off slightly but didn't disappear entirely. Jean grumbled, "What's your problem? Is 'nagging Jean' really higher on your list of priorities than 'save Jean's life'? Sheesh, some friend you are..." 

The feeling finally disappeared as Jean hauled himself onto the wide branch that his hooks were buried in. He flopped on his back, panting and wheezing from the exertion as his heart pounded in his ears like a drum. Jean flung his good arm over his eyes. Everything still hurt and he didn't have the faintest idea how to get home safely. 

If only Marco was still here, Jean thought wistfully. He'd know what to do.

Marco could be a real mother hen and no-fun wet blanket, but he wouldn't have fucked up a simple manoeuvre like that other idiot. Marco certainly wouldn't have run away. He wouldn't have left him stranded in titan-infested territory with no gas and no good blades and no flares, not even if Jean was injured beyond saving. Earlier, Marco would have understood that Jean wanted to deal with the Aberrant type before escaping and found a way to follow-up, even with almost no gas left and only one set of usable blades between them. Hell, if Marco was still at his side then forget being stranded together up a tree in the middle of nowhere, they never would have landed in the situation in the first place. They would be safely ensconced in the Military Police. 

Or, if they were suicidal enough to join the Scouting Legion, then Jean and Marco surely would've become a team to be reckoned with. 

Yeah, Jean thought with a smile as he rolled into his side, we would've been great. 

Marco, gentle and caring soul that he was, didn't mince his words around Jean. Jean would never have to worry about getting sloppy and overconfident with him around. After all, he did tell Jean (bluntly) that while he genuinely felt that Jean had a future as a leader worth entrusting his life to, Jean had a very long way left to go. 

"You have trust issues," Marco had said to his face. Candidly. He even looked Jean straight in the eye with a solemn expression.

Jean, predictably, got offended but Marco countered with that one smile of his – a soft curve of his lips and a dusting of pink underneath his freckled cheeks and an unusual warmth in his brown eyes – it never failed to make all of Jean's thoughts seize up in an incoherent jumble. Once Marco discovered the effect of that specific expression on Jean, he was always careful in its usage and applied it with a surgeon's precision to interrupt his friend's temper before things could get out of hand. 

"You're really bad at having faith in others," Marco repeated, as if Jean hadn't heard him the first time. "You'll probably go far, but your future aides are going to have their hands full smoothing down all the feathers you're going to ruffle. All the effort put into keeping you safe from titans will be for nothing if someone murders you in your sleep because they think you're an irredeemable asshole." 

Jean scoffed, "as that would ever happen." 

"It could!" Marco was prepared to launch into a detailed examination of Jean's faults. Again.

Seeing this, Jean quickly turned and said "then it sounds like you'll have your work cut out for you!"

Marco frowned in confusion and said "what."

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Jean scowled. "You're setting me up to be a leader? Fine, but I'm not going to do all the heavy-lifting by myself, moron. If I'm going to the top then you're coming with me. You, I can trust to watch my back. I don't need anyone else." 

…and no matter how hard he tried, Jean just couldn't remember how Marco answered. 

What he could remember was the way Marco's mouth dropped open. He bristled first with anger but that fell away as he considered Jean's words. Understanding dawned and a funny strangled noise escaped his throat. Marco's eyes widened. His startled brown eyes met Jean's, glistening with emotions that Jean wasn't brave enough to identify. Then a shy and embarrassed smile appeared, warming the freckled boy's cheeks with a heat that turned his face red all the way from his neck up to the tips of his ears. Marco ducked his head and buried his burning face in his hands, laughing softly, self-consciously. 

Marco might have said something then. Maybe he didn't. 

All Jean remembered was a sudden tightness in his chest – a strange warmth and giddiness that overflowed into an uncharacteristic smile. He remembered wondering how warm Marco's face would be and wanting to touch it to find out. He remembered the way Marco's eyes sparkled when the older boy finally worked up the nerve meet Jean's, and the unguarded tenderness in Marco's answering smile. He remembered the way his breath caught in his throat, and the way Marco's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and the way their breaths mingled as the space between them seemed to disappear between one heartbeat and the next, and the…

And then Jean said something stupid and juvenile to break the moment, frantically retreating to safe and familiar territory of friendship. Marco, breathless and a little frantic himself, allowed moment to pass without comment. Neither looked at each other and the moment passed but it had changed something between them and they both knew it. 

They both knew it, but chose to pretend that they were still the same old Jean Kirstein and Marco Bodt. 

Perhaps things would have ended differently if Jean hadn't tried so hard to pretend nothing happened in the days and weeks that followed. Maybe Marco shouldn't have let him get away with it, shouldn't have allowed the argument to wait for some unspecified time in the future when things were less hectic. If they had more time, who knew what that one unguarded moment could have turned into? Maybe it wouldn't have worked out – it was already a wonder that their personalities didn't drive each other crazy. On the other hand, maybe everything would've turned out story-book perfect. Maybe they would've become so close that not even orders from the top would have kept them from going to cover the others backs during the disastrous battle that marked their graduation to full-fledged soldiers. 

Maybe. What-if. If-only.

Jean growled and punched the branch beneath him. What had his caution, his fear of damaging their friendship wrought? A mountain of regrets, all thanks to his cowardice. He didn't even have anything of Marco's to hold onto as a memento of their years together – just memories and a shard of bone that might not even be his. It could be anyone's bone and yet Jean still clung to it like it was the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. Because it probably was. 

Either way, his bone or not, Marco would have a fit if he found out. He'd be so disappointed to learn what a clingy mess Jean really was. Marco would use that sweetly manipulative smile of his and force Jean to move on. To forget about their promises. To forget about their dream. To forget about him. 

Jean laughed loudly. He ground the heels of his hands against his eyes and laughed. He was aware it wasn't the sanest sound, but who was going to complain? Marco? Oh he certainly would, given the opportunity. Too bad Jean was beyond his help, separated by the wall of life and death. He felt a familiar pricking of concern and reproach from somewhere. His conscience, perhaps, which sounded an awful lot like Marco on his bad days, which were most of them. He'd normally welcome anything that felt like the guiding hand of his lost friend but now it only spurred his temper on.

Jean jerked upright, furiously lashing an arm out in a gesture that nearly unbalanced him. 

"You have a problem with the way I'm coping?! Too fucking bad! I'm sick of all this silent, frown-y…" Jean forced his voice up into a falsetto imitation of Marco's and simpered, "You're better than this, Jean, do it for me!" He spat. "Bullshit! If you have something to say, then come over here and say it to my face! Or better yet, I should go over there and make you talk. How'd you like that, huh? Well?! Answer me, you lying piece of chicken-shit! We were supposed to do this together!" 

Jean's breaths were loud and harsh and the only sound that answered his furious words. Not even the titans milling around at the base of the tree bothered to answer. He punched the branch again, harder this time, swore, and examined the damage he did his own hand. 

Good thing Marco couldn't give Jean an earful about grief and loss and dealing with all that stuff. 

Because he was doing just fine, Jean thought loudly and angrily in Marco's direction. If Jean wanted to carry the loss like an open wound and regret what could have been for the rest of his mortal days then that was nobody's business but his. Jean had yet to have a public meltdown (shut up, this time doesn't count; titans don't count as an audience) over his issues unlike like some people in their graduating class that he could mention. Jean was as functional as the next soldier and that counted as a victory in his books… so he'd really appreciate it if Marco's nosey, freckled ass could kindly mind his own business and stop sending all those sad looks and all that stern disapproval from beyond the grave, thank you very much. 

He was having enough trouble sleeping without adding "scared of getting lectured by a dead man" to it. 

"Hold on a second…" Jean mused. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

What if he found a way to screw up so badly that he'd trigger Marco's clucking mother hen instincts? Marco had such a strong sense of responsibility that if there was an afterlife and he was watching from it, then it wouldn't matter if nobody else did it before; Marco would find a way. He'd cross the boundary of life and death just so he could personally shake some sense into his friend because, clearly, Jean couldn't be trusted to take care of himself. 

On one hand, going ahead with this plan would be risky no matter how he went about it. Marco knew Jean's limits better Jean understood himself, so anything short of genuinely dangerous wouldn't elicit more than a sigh and another glare of disapproval searing into the back of his head. It would also increase the chance of Marco getting angry enough to cut off communication altogether. On the other hand, success would mean they'd get to see each other again. He'd get to speak with Marco one more time and tell him all the things he thought he'd have time to say later. 

...Assuming that Marco wouldn't spend the whole time yelling and refusing to listen to Jean's perfectly good reasons for his recent behaviour, of course. 

It could work. 

It was also completely crazy to even consider and that Jean was giving it serious thought – idly working out the logistics of engineering a dangerous-yet-controlled situation where Marco's personal intervention was the only viable option – was probably a sign that he going off the deep end. Jean realized this. He briefly considered how alarmed his year-mates would be if they could hear his thoughts before shoving it all aside with a mental declaration that it was none of their business. He was already in situation where death was almost guaranteed so what did it matter if Jean entertained thoughts of how to get something worthwhile out of his final moments? 

As far as he could tell, Jean's only options were: death from titan, death from dehydration, death from starvation, death from exposure, death from infection or internal bleeding... Or he could hope that one of the dead guys' horses were nearby (unlikely, as these horses were trained to go back to the stable once their rider was lost) and that he'd be able to catch it (by, what, lassoing it with a 3DMG cable? Not even Sasha could do that) and return to the walls without getting ambushed by an animal or a titan along the way and killed. 

Trying to get out of this predicament alive was even stupider than trying to trick a dead friend into returning from an afterlife that might not even exist. 

All things considered, maybe Jean wouldn't have to do anything special at all to carry out his plan to see Marco again. Prospects were grim no matter what he chose to do. Staying put would almost guarantee a slow death while waiting for a rescue party that had no idea where he was. Walking back to the Scouting Legion's headquarters would net him either immediate or a slightly delayed death, depending on how long it took the local predators to realize that Jean was a slow-moving and injured target. The only way out was divine intervention or using up every scrap of good-luck for the rest of his life. 

And if he still failed despite his best efforts? 

Jean laughed. “Well, he'd be really pissed to see me so soon, but we could always have our conversation on the other side!”

Either way, if he got the chance to see Marco again under any circumstance, he wouldn't waste the opportunity. Jean only managed to stay functional for so long through a combination of stubbornness and an irrational desire to keep Marco's memory alive by becoming the calm and reliable rock that everyone could lean on. He tried to become a steadying force that could keep everyone grounded long enough to figure out how to get them all back alive. Jean didn't want to do it but what other choice did he have? They made a promise. 

If he had one more chance... 

Well, first of all, Jean would probably yell at Marco for dumping everything on his shoulders. Maybe he'd even punch Marco a few times just to emphasize the point that Jean was not impressed with how he got himself killed in Trost (and on one of the streets that Jean used to really like walking down to boot). Only after he got that out of his system would Jean would admit what he couldn't say back then. He would finally say out loud that he really did miss Marco. He'd admit that the absence hurt more than that of losing a good friend. Jean would confess that he was too embarrassed to admit that his affections for the older boy ran deeper than friendship.

He'd finally accept that, yes, they really did stop being “just friends” on that day. 

Marco was pretty sharp. He must have known or at least suspected that Jean was especially attached to him for a reason. Even though Jean had tried his damned best to keep Marco in the dark, he must have known. He would have said something otherwise. It wouldn't take more than a few ill-timed words or maybe a smile that lingered too long and the truth would have come out. 

Hell, Marco probably knew the truth all along and only kept quiet to spare his friend's ego or because he secretly enjoyed watching Jean make a fool of himself. It was probably a bit of both, mixed together with a liberal dose of “but what if my hunch is wrong?”. 

Jean had come up with a variety of scenarios on how Marco would respond to the confession, which ranged from a gentle "I'm flattered you like me but…" to an awkward and irreparable rift growing between them. Jean didn't dare entertain the possibility that those shy smiles, which only started appearing after that conversation, could be substantially different from the usual one that Marco wielded like a weapon to get his way. He didn't dare assume that there was anything special about the way Marco would occasionally stare, lost in thought, when he thought that Jean wasn't paying attention. 

He didn't have a lot of really close friends when he was young so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that for three whole years, Jean had been completely misinterpreting Marco's kindness. His instinct said otherwise – that Marco was just as attached to their odd friendship as Jean was – but instinct alone wasn't enough to gamble on.

Jean wasn't about to risk losing the best friend he ever had on something as uncertain as a hunch that Marco liked him back. 

But if he ever got the chance to see Marco again? To hell with preserving the status quo. Compared to something like Marco dying and Jean discovering his half-rotted corpse days later, a confession was nothing. Jean would confess properly and then... and then what?

Marco would probably punch Jean in the face for taking so long to work up the nerve to say what they both already knew. Then Jean would punch him back because why didn't Marco say something if he already knew. They'd yell and scream and accuse each other of being the bigger idiot and take the opportunity to air out all the grievances that built up since the last time they fought. 

It'd be a toss-up over who'd throw the first punch; Eren wasn't the only person that Jean got into fist-fights with, after all, and Marco was a lot stronger and meaner than he looked. 

Whoever threw the first punch would get the only solid hit in because things would quickly descend into wrestling in the dirt like a couple of kids. They roll around and try the pin the other in a submission hold, cursing and swearing the whole time but at some point, the insults would turn into laughter and they'd completely forget that they were ever angry. Marco was physically stronger and bigger than him, but Jean was creative and wasn't afraid to play dirty. Jean would eventually win through subterfuge rather than skill. He'd triumphantly pin the older boy to the ground, gloating and smug like the poor winner he usually was, while Marco laughed merrily – saying without words that he had let Jean win. 

Then, all at once, they'd remember that day and the countless other moments that nearly upset the delicate balance between friendship and something else entirely. They'd stare at each other, both breathing hard while the scant space between their bodies hummed with tension. It would take less effort than a thought to close the distance between them, to press his body and his lips to Marco's, to finally claim should have, no, what already was his all along. Only Jean had been too blind and stubborn to see it and Marco too scared to draw attention to it. 

Marco would eagerly lean into the touches, overflowing with affection and relief that the strange stalemate between them had finally broken. He would moan and twist his body beneath Jean's in a move that was equal parts desire and calculation in order to free his hands, driven by a desperate need to touch and confirm that this was really happening. He'd succeed, of course, because Marco already knew most of Jean's buttons and only refrained from pressing them out of polite consideration that normal friends didn't do that to each other. All bets were off now. 

Distracted by the older boy's sudden boldness, Jean's arms would buckle and their bodies would crash together, eliciting a gasp as their- 

The loud snap of bird's wings in the air mingled with fantasy, sounding more like a door opening or someone's approach.

"Shit!" 

Jean nearly rolled off the branch trying to escape his thoughts. 

He scrambled inelegantly and barely managed to avoid plummeting to his death. Habit had him crawling backwards while scanning for any sign of big-mouthed friends that might repeat what they just witnessed to Marco. His heart hammered in his chest as reason slowly reasserted itself. Jean wasn't back in the trainee's barracks or his room at the Scouting Legion's headquarters, he was in a tree. He was stuck in a tree because their hastily put together squad fucked up. The others ran away or got themselves killed and now Jean was on his own, so there was no way anyone could have witnessed his stupidity. And the reason he was acting stupidly was because there was no one around to catch him fantasizing about Marco, least of all the man in question.

Jean released a shaky breath.

Then he became uncomfortably aware of the painful tightness in his pants. A glance downward confirmed his suspicion that their uniforms really weren't designed with hormonal teenaged boys in mind. If anything, it was loudly advertising just how hard he was to anyone with eyes. 

Jean cursed his disobedient body and angrily pressed a hand between his legs, as if applying pressure it would be enough to make the problem go away. Why did it have to decide that now, of all times, was a great time to get turned on? He wasn't even thinking of anything particularly filthy – a kiss and a little touching – and he had entertained far more explicit fantasies than that without getting hard. 

Although, since he was already on a roll with this whole being honest with himself thing, Jean wondered if maybe the key difference between then and now was that none of those fantasies included Marco in any way, shape, or form. And now that he was thinking about it, the last time Jean felt the need to masturbate at all had been back when Marco was still alive. Back then, Jean never actively thought about his friend like that but maybe the older boy's mere presence in the next bunk over was enough.

He covered his burning face with a hand and groaned, “What the hell is wrong with you, Kirstein? Damn it, maybe I should just jump and get it all over with...” 

Jean had just rolled onto his side, mortified beyond belief, when the sound of feathers rustling caught his attention. He frowned. While he did remember hearing a bird earlier, he didn't see any nests nearby and there was nothing to eat in the abandoned farmstead. What could it be? Was he really curious enough to open his eyes and confirm that something, even just a bird, had borne witness to his stupidity? 

Not really, no, but then a sound even stranger than birds were there should be none reached his ears.

An impossibly familiar voice called out, “Jean!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, it's dead easy to convince me to do things? Anon: You should post to AO3. Me: (I was planning to wait until this was complete, but...) Okay.
> 
> This the final edit version of an ongoing fill on the kink meme. The chapter divisions won't line up 1:1 and there will be rewritten parts but it's mostly the same as the version there, just much slower to update. If you get impatient, check out the fill (imaginatively titled “fill”) to see the rough version of the next segment posted in ~16,000 character long chunks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion that doesn't go exactly as planned.

Oh hell no. 

Jean covered his head with his arms, curled into a ball, and decided that the final strands of sanity had slipped through his fingers. He was now in the middle of a complete mental breakdown. That was the only reasonable explanation because the alternative was too terrible to consider. That voice couldn't possibly belong to who it sounded like and Jean definitely didn't hear it say “please answer me!” with that uniquely Jinae twist to the vowels that always crept in when Marco was too tired or too upset to hide his accent. 

Not bad for a hallucination. 

He had to give his subconscious credit for being able to reproduce the exact pitch of Marco's voice. Jean never consciously tried to commit anyone's voice to memory, not even his. But, unfortunately, his attempt to escape from reality was cut short by that voice calling his name again. It was strained with fear and the sound stabbed him right in the conscience. Damn that freckled nuisance and his impeccably bad timing. Couldn't he have waited a few more minutes?

Eventually, Jean grunted a surly “What.” 

“So you can hear me.” The voice's relief was obvious. The Jinae accent had almost completely disappeared by the time he finished saying “Stop ignoring me. That's rude.”

Jean scowled and wondered if he was falling into a trap by responding. 

“No,” he said. “I refuse to talk to a figment of my imagination. That's crazy.” 

“I'm not imaginary, Jean. And even if I was, you already spoke to me a couple times today. Remember? If you're crazy then it's already too late so you might as well say your piece to my face.”

Jean cringed. “You've been watching me for that long?” 

“Oh! Um, y- yeah. Sorry. I was...” His words trailed off into indistinct mumbles, followed by an awkward silence. 

So much for not making a fool of himself, Jean groused. 

If Marco was watching (and listening) for that long then there was no reason to stay in such an uncomfortable position; the damage was already done. Jean uncurled and shuffled to lean against the trunk of the tree, never taking his eyes off the figure standing a couple meters away on a part of the branch that should have been too thin to support his weight. 

There was no mistaking who it was. 

Marco looked pretty good for a dead man. His body was fully restored and while his colour was a little too pale and greyish for comfort, it was on the healthy side of sickly and that was more than enough. Most importantly, Marco's skull was whole and there were two soft brown eyes fixed on Jean's face. He was wearing a Trainee Corps uniform like the one he was found in but the jacket was pulled tight across his shoulders and arms where it had been a little loose on him before. Marco also looked a little taller than he remembered and Jean wondered if it was a perspective trick or if he had somehow managed to grow older after dying.

And there were massive feathery wings on the guy's back, too. Those definitely weren't there before. 

Marco's smile immediately fell into a concerned frown when Jean scrubbed a hand over his face and began to shake with strangled hysterical laughter. Jean could feel the branch shaking beneath his weight as Marco quickly crossed the distance separating them. He came to a stop a short distance away and reached out for Jean's arm, intending to steady his friend with a touch like he had done so countless other times before. He expected everything to be like it was before. It wasn't. 

Jean flinched. 

Jean flinched and pulled away, eyes wild with panic as he scrambled for the forgotten hilts of his blades. He pressed his back against the unyielding bark of the tree. The broken and dulled blades, rattling loudly in his shaking hands, wouldn't do much in their current state but he still pointed what was left of them in an ineffectual threat. Marco stood frozen with his hands still raised. 

“Stay the fuck back.” Jean snarled. 

“Hey... It's just me.” Marco's voice was soft, confused, but he obediently retreated a step.

Jean sneered, “and who would that be?”

“What are you saying?” Marco's eyes darted to the trembling blades. “You know who I am.”

Jean gave a sharp bark of laughter and shook his head. “You've got a lot of nerve to show up looking like that, I'll give you that. What are trying to pull?” 

“This isn't a trick, I swear!” 

“Then prove it.”

“That's–” 

Jean narrowed his eyes and the half-formed words died in Marco's throat. His hands and eyes dropped. Nervous fingers twisted into the straps of the now completely extraneous 3DMG harness. He certainly didn't need the help of technology to get airborne now. 

“Prove it,” Jean repeated. “You could, if you're really who you claim to be.”

Marco bit his lip with a pained expression, but ultimately chose to remain silent.

Jean didn't know what to think. He wasn't convinced that the thing standing before him wasn't something like a concussion induced hallucination or a monster masquerading as his best friend. All of the books he read claimed that the titan menace just appeared one day to wipe out humanity. Who could say with absolute certainty that there weren't other things out there beyond the walls that were just as unbelievable and dangerous? With the way Jean's luck was going these days, it would make perfect sense if he became the first person to encounter a new threat to humanity. 

They stared at each other, stalemated with Jean refusing to trust and Marco unwilling to explain. 

The stricken expression on Marco's face tugged at a memory and, despite his misgivings, Jean found himself smiling inwardly. Of course. There was one way to test the identity of the person standing before him. It would be a crude and inelegant solution, but effective. It would have to do. 

Jean calmly sheathed the blades. He reached down, never breaking eye-contact, and undid the button of his pants with one hand while pulling down the zipper with the other. Amber-brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he boldly reached inside to grip his half-forgotten but still aching erection. Marco's startled eyes immediately snapped down to follow the movements of Jean's hand.

Naturally, Marco completely forgot what he was opening his mouth to say. 

Well then, Jean sniggered. Identity confirmed. The winged weirdo was him, alright. 

He didn't know how he did it, but Marco somehow managed find a way back from the other side. The freckled bastard was also ridiculously lucky that the first person he ran into was Jean. Nobody else would have prepared a plan for just such an occasion. Or, if they did, their identification methods wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining for everyone involved.

Jean bit his lip and shook with suppressed laughter. 

Nobody from back in their Trainee Corps days would have ever guessed that Jean Kirstein and Marco Bodt were close enough to come up with such a harebrained plan. Hell, there were some people who didn't even think that their friendship was genuine. Those guys certainly wouldn't believe that good ol' friendly and reliable Marco was secretly a pervert and the one who came up with this identification method. Okay, sure, Marco might have been a little bit tipsy at the time but it didn't change the fact that this was entirely his idea and Jean had to be talked into it. 

'And speaking of his surprisingly filthy mind...' 

It was taking an unusually long time for Marco's thoughts to climb back out of the gutter and Jean wondered if he should say something yet. Jean had learnt patience but there were still many questions that he wanted answers to sooner rather than later. And yet... that expression. He had never seen Marco make that sort of face before. 

Jean sighed, conflicted. 

It would also be great if Marco's unexpected return from the grave was accompanied by a solution that didn't end in Jean's untimely death. He wasn't stupid enough to put blind faith in whatever divine intervention Marco could offer. The world they lived in was not kind or generous enough to offer easy answers without a catch. It wouldn't be so bad if Jean was personally guided to the afterlife by the one person he had desperately wanted to see again but on the other hand, was that really necessary anymore when Marco was standing before him? 

He groaned.

As much as he'd like to spend the rest of the day revelling in Marco's embarrassment, he really didn't have the luxury of time. Daylight would start to fade soon and Jean was still a long way from the safety of the walls. It was true that titans became less active at night but the darkness brought with it a whole other set of dangers for an injured man travelling by foot. Jean reluctantly switched his grip and squirmed, struggling to press his cock flat against his stomach to avoid catching anything important in the zipper's teeth. He released a shaky breath and wondered if Marco could see his pulse throbbing through the straining white denim. 

Jean snapped his fingers loudly and Marco jumped. 

“Hey, eyes up here!” 

Marco's eyes met Jean's for a split second before quickly (and guiltily) darting away to focus on the horizon. His face turned a truly impressive shade of red. The blush almost completely blotted out the dark freckles on his cheeks and Jean was suddenly and sorely tempted to see if he could embarrass Marco further, to see if he could get any redder. It would be fun. 

“Don't even think about it.” Marco glared as if he had heard Jean's thoughts. Perhaps he could. 

Jean wiped the grin off his face and held up his hands in mock surrender. “I don't know what you're talking about, man. I didn't do anything,” he said with an air of wide-eyed innocence. 

“Don't you try that cute act on me, Jean Kirstein.” Marco scolded. The effect was ruined by the way his eyes kept drifting downward before darting back up to settle on Jean's smug face. 

He suspected that he'd get punched for this in a few minutes, but Jean really couldn't help himself. 

“R- really? That's... um, wow. You, uh...” Jean looked up at Marco through his lashes with a faint blush and a rare timid smile. “You really think I'm cute?” 

“What?!” Marco somehow managed to blanch and turn cherry red at the same time. “No! That's not what I--” 

“Oh, of course.” Jean interrupted. He swallowed hard and mumbled, “Sorry. Forget I said anything.” 

Jean bit his lip and turned away quickly, lest Marco see the expression on his face and catch on. Jean hunched forward, shoulders and back tense, and curled his hands into tight fists. For added effect, he also took a shallow breath and made the sound hitch as if he were on the verge of tears. There. That should be enough to make Marco jump to the wrong conclusions.

'But just in case Marco really has developed mind-reading powers...' 

Jean cast his thoughts back to the days immediately following the breech of Wall Rose. He recalled the numbness and the utter disbelief that so many lives could be lost inside the walls. It was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be safe, all of them. Jean remembered the cold ache in his chest that made his eyes burn and his throat seize up. He remembered all the times he turned around with a smile on his lips, expecting to see dark hair and warm brown eyes only to come face-to-face with someone else entirely. He remembered what happened every time he forgot about Trost and started asking if anyone had seen Marco, only to be met with words of pity and eyes filled the growing suspicion that Jean was slowly but steadily losing his mind. 

That sharp pain of loss struck every single god-damned night. It happened when Jean huddled underneath the shitty standard-issue sheets, shivering and teeth chattering, yearning for by-gone days when Marco lay an arm's length away, radiating heat like a furnace. The boy with a patience of a saint was always cheerfully dismissive of the constant winter-time threat of waking up to find Jean curled around him. Marco would just smile indulgently and nudge him awake, urging Jean to get up before the others started asking awkward questions. 

“Fuck.” 

Jean pressed a hand to his face and groaned. Great job making yourself feel like shit, genius. 

“Hey, Jean? Are you okay?” 

Marco's hands came within a hair's breadth of his friend's hunched shoulders before halting, frozen by the memory of flinching and Jean pulling away with fear and suspicion in his eyes. He had looked at Marco like he was less trustworthy than a stranger and Jean had never looked him like that. Not even in the early days of training when they barely knew the other existed had Jean ever acted like Marco was someone to be wary around.

Marco swallowed past the lump in his throat and said “I'm not actually mad, you know.” 

No response.

Marco plastered a reassuring smile on his face, even though he knew that Jean couldn't see it, and tried again. 

“Okay, fine, you got me. I am angry. We need to have a long talk about some of the decisions you've made lately, but that doesn't mean that I hate you.” Marco scratched his cheek and mumbled “there's no way I could” before clearing his throat loudly and stammering, “A- anyway, I'm here because you kept calling for me so... yeah.”

Jean remained unmoved.

“Oh come on already!” Marco snapped, “Stop being such an ass and say something!” 

“Just... shut up for a minute, would ya? Can't you see I'm busy feeling sorry for myself?” Jean's voice was muffled by his hands. 

Marco straightened, pleased that he was finally getting a response even if the response wasn't what he wanted to hear. 

“What do you have to feel bad about?” Marco said gently, as if he were speaking to a skittish animal. 

“What don't I have to feel bad about is a better question,” Jean grunted. 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Jean hummed and began to consider the offer when his mouth supplied “a hug would be nice” without consulting with his brain. Crap. Jean opened his mouth to clarify what he meant, even though he didn't know himself what there was to misinterpret about the truth, when he saw the expression on Marco's face. Marco's eyes were damp with unshed tears and his face twisted with something akin to pain and longing. The freckled boy didn't hesitate to reach out and pull him close with strong arms that shook with the effort to remain at a friendly distance, to resist the urge to crush Jean against his body and never let go. 

Marco's warm breath puffed against his ear and soft feathers tickled his nose and, somehow, Jean found himself relaxing. He looped his own arms around Marco's waist and smiled. Despite the time spent apart, despite the fact that he had died while Jean remained alive and growing, Marco was still the taller and more muscled of them both. 

As if sensing the shift in Jean's mood, Marco leaned back just enough to see his friend's face. There was a strange vulnerability in the way Marco stared down at him with a touch of fear and disbelief that was horribly out of place on his face. Marco was supposed to be the steady rock that everyone in the 104th, not just Jean, relied on. Friendly, out-going, and generous Marco. Always willing to lend a hand or an ear to anyone who needed it. Unwilling to burden others with his problems. The most that the others knew of his life outside the Trainee Corps was freely offered on the first day -- “Marco Bodt, from Jinae”. 

Very few people got to see the side of him that was just as scared and lost as everyone else. Even fewer people were told where Marco lived in Jinae, much less given instructions on how to find his home and told what to say to his family and what to do with his stuff. It's just you, Marco's searching eyes seemed to say. Jean Kirstein managed to become the confidant of the guy that inspired faith in just about everyone he met and he couldn't begin to imagine how an asshole like the younger him managed to do it. 

“I missed you,” Jean confessed in an ashamed voice. “I'm still not convinced I'm not dreaming, but... I really missed you.” 

“Me too.” Marco bumped his nose against Jean's and smiled. “You can't imagine how hard it was being helpless. I couldn't do anything but watch and I couldn't even see everything that happened. I'm really proud of you, you know, for holding it together.” 

“If you've really been watching then you'd know what a bald-faced lie that is. I've done a shit job of staying sane.” Jean's voice broke. His eyes dropped. 

“No, Jean, that's not true!” Marco cried.

“You're a really bad liar.” Jean smiled. His voice was thick with emotion. “I appreciate it, though.”

“It's not a lie!” 

Lightly scarred hands cupped Jean's face as he pressed lingering kisses to a cheek damp with silent tears. Jean turned and chased after Marco's lips with his own. The contact was light and lasted no more than a second but it was enough to set his body ablaze. Marco's hands gripped tighter. He leaned down to meet Jean's open mouth half-way for a second and third kiss but it still wasn't enough. The way Jean arched his body against Marco's only scattered his thoughts further.

“Jean, I really am proud of you,” he panted. “Do you remember how I said you were really perceptive? Well, you don't know how true that is. You weren't talking to yourself all that time, it was me.” A note of wonder crept into his voice. “You actually noticed me.” 

Jean hummed, a hazy smile softening his sharp features. He locked eyes with Marco to indicate he was still listening but it was clear that Jean was far more interested in increasing the friction between their hips. 

Marco groaned “Stop that!” in a strangled voice. 

Jean pressed a kiss to the palm of Marco's hand and demanded, “Why should I?” 

Marco shivered. One hand slid down to grip Jean's shoulder as the other carded through the short brown and black hair. It was a lot softer than it looked. Marco pressed their foreheads together and studied the flecks of gold in his friend's brown eyes. 

“Jean,” Marco breathed, “Our first time is not going to be in a tree.”

Jean's brows furrowed as he slowly and laboriously turned the words over in his mind, struggling to attach meaning to the sounds. Marco was close enough to see the exact moment when understanding dawned. A thunderous scowl descended.

Jean huffed an indignant “Why not?!” 

He looked so genuinely disappointed that Marco had no choice but to smother his laughter against Jean's cheek, and in Jean's mouth, and down the muscled column of Jean's neck where a rapid staccato pulse drummed beneath his tongue. Firm fingers traced the curve of Jean's spine before coming to a rest on his hip, deftly slipping past the belt to press against the overheated flesh.

“Marco,” he sighed.

“Do I really have to explain why it'd be a terrible idea?” He said against Jean's skin. 

“Yes,” Jean said flatly and with surprising lucidity. “Yes you do.”

Marco sighed and tried to come up with an explanation that would be able to penetrate Jean's lust-addled mind. It would have to be a good one, since Jean had a mulish stubborn streak that only seemed to surface when Marco didn't let him have his way. He swiftly came to a conclusion that had the added benefit of returning the favour Jean paid with his earlier stunts. Marco slipped his arms around Jean's tense shoulders. He touched their foreheads together and waited until Jean's eyes rose to meet his, then smiled. 

“We're not going to do anything until I've brought you somewhere safe,” Marco said. “Once we're back, you're going to see a doctor.” 

“Why the hell do I need to see a doctor? I feel fine!” Jean said, lying through his teeth. His ribs were really starting to hurt badly and his wrist wasn't in much better condition. The ringing in his ears subsided but it hadn't completely gone away. The crease in Marco's brows made it clear that the older boy did not believe Jean's claims of health in the slightest. 

“You're going to a doctor.” Marco said firmly, “Nothing is going to happen until I'm sure that you're healthy enough for what's coming next.”

“O- oh?” Jean blinked, intrigued.

Marco stepped closer, close enough that their bodies brushed up against each other when they inhaled, and Jean's shaking hands came to a rest on Marco's hips. He gripped hard enough to leave bruises behind and Marco was distantly surprised to discover that he didn't mind being marked in such a way at all. 

He leaned in and murmured against Jean's lips: “Once the doctor clears you, I'm going to ride you until you can't come anymore.” 

He smiled at the shudder that ran through Jean's body and continued in a low voice. “I'm going to ride you until you collapse. I'll keep going until you're completely exhausted and relaxed and happy to be beneath me, to be inside me, and that's when I'll take my turn.” He pressed a tender kiss to the parted lips. “That's when I'm going to fuck you.”

Jean swallowed hard, panting, eyes glassy and more than a little unfocused. 

“See? You don't need to worry.” Marco flashed that sweetly manipulative smile of his. “I swear that I won't disappear, Jean. There's nowhere else that I want to be.”

The gooey affection that the older boy normally kept well-hidden was now visible in the softness of his gaze, in the surety of the arms resting heavily on his shoulders. The openness was somehow even more embarrassing than any of the words Marco spoke earlier and Jean found himself looking away. 

“Okay. Got it. We will wait for later.” Jean said, eloquently.

“Thank you,” Marco said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more things change...

It became apparent after a few minutes of silence that Marco was not going to let go anytime soon. If anything, he was making himself more comfortable by adjusting his arms around Jean's shoulders and burying his nose in his friend's hair. Jean didn't need to see it to know that there was a goofy-looking smile on Marco's face... and why shouldn't it be there? The separation had been hard on both of them but Jean had it pretty easy compared to what Marco must have gone through. 

The surviving members of the 104th watched each other with a vigilance that bordered on paranoia, ready to intervene should signs emerge that one of them was about to fall to monsters of their own creation. Eren was one that everyone worried about to some degree, for good reason. The fate of humanity rest on his bony shoulders and that was a greater burden than any one person should ever carry. Jean, it seemed, was another source of worry due to what appeared to be a growing inability to distinguish between the living and the dead. The constant hovering was a nuisance for everyone involved, but it did accomplish the what they set out to do: keep Jean occupied so he wouldn't have the time or energy to talk himself into doing anything especially foolish.

But Marco didn't have that. He was completely alone over there as everyone he cared deeply about was still among the living. And yet, he still managed to pull off the impossible and found a way back. 

Then the first thing he did was track down a guy who was stupid to run in the right direction. 

“Would you please cut that out already?” Marco scolded. 

He pulled back to arm's length and fixed Jean with a hard stare. The disapproval and annoyance radiated from Marco in palpable waves. It was nothing new to someone like Jean, who had a special talent for getting under people's skin, but what struck him was that the glare felt suspiciously familiar.

Jean gave Marco an annoyed look of his own and said, “Hold on... all those naggy glares I felt. That was actually you all along, wasn't it?”

“Yes. I told you this already,” Marco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Remember? The part about you being unusually perceptive? I wouldn't have needed to go to all this trouble if you could just--” he cut himself off with a wave of his hand, “--if you didn't keep blurting out my name every single time I checked up on you.” The exasperation was tempered with an indulgent fondness that made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “Honestly, what am I going to do with you? Can't leave you alone for one minute.”

Jean blushed. “I didn't call your name all the time.” 

Marco's eyes sparkled with amusement when he said, “Not out loud.”

“You make it sound like I summoned you by chanting your name over and over,” Jean grumbled before pausing to consider his words. He looked up. “Wait, that's not how it works... is it?”

Marco shrugged. “To be perfectly honest? I don't know.” 

“That better not be all the explanation I'm going to get for what's going on.” Jean frowned and jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “I have a lot of questions and you're going to answer all of them.”

“And I swear that I will, but I can't right now.” Marco took Jean's hand in his and squeezed it. “Please, I need you to trust me on this. I'll tell you everything I know but we have more important things to worry about right now. Explanations will have to wait.”

“What could be more important than how you came back to life?” Jean snatched his hand back and drew himself up to his full height.

“Um. Technically, I'm not alive...”

“Marco.” 

Curiously, Jean still wasn't tall enough to look Marco straight in the eyes and Jean knew for a fact that he had grown taller since Trost – his poorly fitting uniforms were proof enough of that. Did Marco really manage to grow older after dying? Looking closely, Jean could see that Marco's cheeks were a little less round than the face in his memory but was it an actual change or had grief blurred his memories of what Marco had looked like, had been like? 

Marco's eyes widened as Jean leaned forward with an unusual intensity in his amber-brown eyes. His hand immediately shot out and clutched a handful of Marco's shirt in an iron grip to stop him before he could even think of moving away. Completely misinterpreting the intent behind Jean's actions, Marco smiled softly and closed the distance to capture his friend's mouth in a quick but sloppy kiss. Jean sputtered and slapped a hand on Marco's face, shoving the laughing boy away with a startled exclamation. 

“Damn it, Marco!” Jean shouted, “If you really expect me to wait for later then STOP DOING THAT!” 

“I'm really sorry,” Marco apologized earnestly, but desire burned in his veins like a molten fire. Jean was his. Jean was finally and indisputably his after years of patience and Marco still couldn't touch him, not yet. It wasn't safe. He knew that now was not the time and here was not the place to get distracted by something like memorizing the taste of Jean's skin, or mapping out all the changes to Jean's body with his hands, or--

Snapping fingers interrupted his thoughts. 

“How many more times am I going to have to do this?” Jean laughed. He clapped a hand on Marco's shoulder and said, “You, my friend, have a serious problem. Focus, Marco. Leave the perverted things for later. If I can do it then so can you.” 

Marco wanted to whine like a child, but he dismissed the impulse with a firm shake of his head. Jean was right. The priority should be to keep his best friend alive and breathing for years to come and that couldn't be accomplished if he kept getting distracted. He had a job to do. First, get Jean back to the safety of the walls, then force him to see a competent doctor. And then, later... 

Well, he'd think about that later.

“Thanks for being so patient with me, Jean.” Marco flashed a sheepish smile and scratched his cheek. “I guess it was a little hypocritical of me to tell you to back off if I'm not willing to do the same.”

Jean shrugged carelessly and said, “No problem. But seriously, I'm going to hold you to that promise.” 

“Which one?” Marco asked as he retreated several steps, far enough that the higher functioning parts of his brain could regain control.

Jean turned to face Marco fully and rest his hands on his hips with an enigmatic smile. 

The weight of Jean's gaze tracing over the lines of Marco's body was like a tangible force; it was as if he could actually feel the course taken by those bright hawk-like eyes as they methodically catalogued all of the changes to his friend's restored body. Marco swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to squirm and shy away, embarrassed. He wanted to hide from the intense focus in Jean's eyes that made them appear golden in the bright sunlight, but he didn't. Couldn't. It was mesmerizing. It was intoxicating to know that he was the only thing on Jean's mind, to know that there were no others vying for his attention. 

Marco's eyes were still caught by Jean's when the younger man leaned forward to murmur a heated “All of them” into Marco's ear. 

Jean turned away without waiting for a response and busied himself with adjusting the straps of his 3DMG harness with an air of casual indifference. He feigned deafness. He acted as if he didn't hear the unsteadiness of the breathing behind him, the strangled noise that was probably Marco choking on his name. It was a sound that Jean was looking forward to drawing out of his best friend again, under more ideal circumstances, and he was certain that Marco wanted to discover if he could affect Jean the same way. 

Likewise, he was certain that Marco had enough self-control to restrain himself from acting on impulse. This was the man who spent close to three years living with the object of his affections while knowing for a fact that his feelings were returned, all without rousing suspicion in any of their year-mates that Marco Bodt and Jean Kirstein were anything but good friends. Marco wasn't the blunt and impulsive type, like Jean. 

Therefore, it was a genuine surprise when Jean suddenly felt another set of hands pressing against him. The warm hands slipped up underneath the hem of his brown canvas jacket and strong fingers splayed over the curve of his back, pressing into the tense muscles with a surety borne of long familiarity.

Jean peered over his shoulder and arched his brows. 

“Seriously? This can't be all it takes to make you crack.”

“I'm helping you with your straps, you ass.” Marco said. The Jinae accent was back in full force. “Nothing more.” 

“Right, right...” Jean grinned. “I should take my jacket off. You know, to help you see what you're doing.” 

“Not necessary,” Marco said. 

He met Jean's eyes and although his freckled cheeks were still flushed red, the look in Marco's eyes was all business. Nothing Jean said now would affect him. It was the same look that Marco wore back when he was convinced that Jean would be forever hopeless at 3D manoeuvres without his coaching. Marco refused to listen when Jean kept trying to explain that, no, it wasn't that he couldn't understand how to do joint aerial manoeuvres and, no, he definitely wasn't being difficult because he was jealous of the time Marco spent with other people. He just didn't feel like wasting his energy mastering a useless skill, and that was honestly it. 

Jean gave a disappointed sigh and went back to checking his gear. 

There was no point in arguing when Marco was in this sort of mood. It was easier to let him have his way now and talk about it later. Marco would apologize on his own if it turned out that Jean didn't actually do anything that would warrant such a response. 

They spent the following minutes in a comfortable silence as they worked together to assess the condition of Jean's damaged gear. The impact from the collision with the tree had damaged the lightweight metal so badly that all of the straps needed to be checked to ensure that the harness was still in good enough condition to support the additional burden should a portion of it fail. The gas canisters were completely depleted so they could be discarded; there was no point in carrying the extra weight without a way to replenish them. The empty blade holsters could also be left behind, as one of the boxes was so damaged that it wasn't even worth bringing back to be repaired. 

“Can't I just use your gear?” Jean asked, squinting at the winch mechanism and wondering if anything looked broken. 

Marco smoothly plucked it from his hands and handed over the triggers for Jean to double-check instead. 

“I don't think so.” Marco said uncertainly as he set the half-disassembled mechanism in his lap. “I haven't seen my back yet but from what I can feel, my wings are in the way. There's probably no way to remove my gear without cutting it off in pieces.” 

Jean looked up. “How do you get your shirt off if they're in the way like that? I- I'm not asking for that reason, before you ask. I'm just wondering how it works.” 

Marco hummed and leaned back on his hands. He stared up at the sky and said, “I think there's a technique to make the wings go away, temporarily at least, I just don't know how. I saw other guys who weren't ready to let go yet either... hanging around and sp-- looking out for our loved ones.”

“Spying. You were going to say spying.” Jean pointed. “Marco Bodt, did you abuse your angel powers to peep on me? And the mind reading! Can you actually hear my thoughts now?”

Marco continued on as if he hadn't heard Jean; his poker face gave nothing away. 

“I don't remember seeing many others with wings like mine so I'm sure there's a trick to it,” he said. “There are probably other things about being an angel that I don't know, since I didn't really pay attention to anything but how to get back here...” 

“I asked you a question.” 

Marco glanced over and said, “I guess I have to go shirtless until I figure it out.” 

Jean blinked. There was that evasive “I don't want to answer this” smile again. He wanted to argue but... 

“I'm cool with it,” Jean said instead. “Let's do that. Who says you need that skill? I don't think you need to learn how to do that. Wait, can anyone else see you?” He scowled. “On second thought, you'd better figure it out before we get back.” 

Marco laughed. 

“Jean, did you forget that the Trainee Corps showers were communal? Everyone has seen me naked before.” Marco shook his head and turned his attention back to the dented gear. “Being shirtless for a while won't be that big of a deal.”

“I'm just worried that you'll get cold!” Jean protested. 

Marco looked up with a small smile playing on his lips. “Have you already forgotten that I have wings now? It's like carrying a down blanket around wherever I go.” 

The tips of Marco's wings were visible over his shoulders where they had been folded up tightly against his back. The feathers rustled faintly. Marco stretched out his right arm and behind it his right wing extended far past the tips of his fingers. It was easily double, if not more than triple, the length of his arm. The softer feathers on the underside were white but the larger flight feathers curving out from the main body of the wing were a different colour. Marco dropped his arm and curled the wing across the front of his body to make the point that he could use them as a glorified coat should the need ever arise. The surface of his wings was mostly a dark muted brown, like weathered wood, broken up here and there with black streaks on the tips of the flight feathers and white tufts where the soft down poked through. 

The main feathers on Marco's wings looked a little glossier and denser than those on any bird that Jean had seen before. His hand immediately darted out to touch. His finger tips were already resting on the leading edge of Marco's right wing when Jean belatedly remembered his manners and asked if it was okay. 

Marco ducked his head, smiled shyly, and nodded. 

“Go ahead. Just... please be careful you don't accidentally pull a feather out? I need those. And it'll hurt and take forever to grow back. If you want a souvenir, I'll find a loose one for you.”

“I... I'll take you up on that offer once we get back.” Jean laughed awkwardly. “I don't exactly have extra pockets to carry it in, you know? Don't want to wreck it.”

“O- okay.” 

Jean had expected his hand to pass through Marco's wing as if it were nothing but a mirage. It remained solid beneath his fingers. The feathers were surprisingly sturdy too, but that probably shouldn't have come as a surprise since they had to be capable of carrying the weight of a person. They really were different from the soft and fluffy feathers of songbirds that were usually kept as pets. Jean gingerly increased the pressure of his grip on the leading edge of the wing and felt the powerful muscles beneath them jump. 

Titan-honed reflexes were the only thing that prevented Jean from being knocked senseless when Marco yelped and jerked his wing away. 

“Sorry!” Jean held his hands above his head, like a guilty child caught in the act. 

“No, no, no... not at all! That's not it.” Marco waved a hand in frantic denial. The wings fluttered as he regained his balance and folded them back up, out of reach. “You just surprised me, that's all.” 

“Are you sure I didn't hurt you?” Jean asked, unconvinced. His arms dropped back down to his sides. He tried to circle around to Marco's back to check for damage but was stopped with a firm hand on his shoulder. 

“I'm sure. Really,” Marco said. He looked away with a sheepish expression that turned his cheeks pink. “It wasn't anything you did, Jean. It was just me over-thinking things.”

“Oh?” He prompted. 

“It's dumb,” Marco mumbled. 

Jean crossed his arms over his chest. “Go on, then. I'm listening.”

“It's just...” Marco twisted his fingers into the straps of his harness and stared at a spot vaguely left of Jean's ear. “You know that wings are basically like having another set of arms, right? Well, when I felt you touching me, that's when I remembered that, uh, I never got to-- Hey, stop grinning like that!” 

“I can't help it! You're just so damn cute.” Jean pressed a noisy kiss to Marco's reddened cheek. “I can't figure out if you're the most perverted angel that ever existed or the purest one because, seriously? That's what freaked you out?” Jean smoothly laced their fingers together and held up their joined hands. “See? Nothing to it.” 

“Shut up and put your gear on.” 

Marco reclaimed his hand, clicked the gear's protective cover into place, and then shoved the hastily repaired apparatus into Jean's arms. 

Jean caught it with only a slight fumble and began strapping everything back into place, snickering the whole time. Marco gave an exaggerated huff. He crossed his arms and turned away but it was clear from the way he kept fidgeting and looking over that Marco was more embarrassed by Jean's actions than angry. For someone so friendly and outgoing, he could be surprisingly shy about the strangest things. It was always a treat when Marco slipped up and revealed his true thoughts, even if it meant dealing with uncharacteristic crabbiness until he regained his composure. 

“If you're quite done laughing at my expense,” Marco said testily, “We should stop wasting time.” 

Jean scrubbed a hand over his face and wiped away the last traces of mirth with force, reminding himself of the tasks left to accomplish. It was sobering. They were having fun but it was time to focus. The longer Jean took to let the Scouting Legion know that he was still alive, the greater chance there was that he'd return to find all of his personal belongings missing and a letter of condolence sent to his mother. He knew how quickly the military personnel reacted to death notices from personal experience. He took a steadying breath and released it. 

“Okay, I'm ready.” Jean nodded. “It'll be just like old times, right? You lead and I'll follow.” 

Marco smiled softly and said, “Yeah.” 

Jean returned his smile despite the unease churning in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure how useful he and his battered equipment would be in their current state but he had no choice but to try. 

At least he had someone reliable acting as backup this time. 

Jean took a deep breath as he stepped forward but was halted by a firm grip on his arm. It was like iron. Confused, he looked back to find Marco holding his left wrist with both hands with a worried frown on his face. He tugged on Jean's arm insistently, refusing to let go until his friend turned around. 

“Wait! Before you do anything, I think you should take this.” Marco patted the gas canisters attached to the holsters on his legs. “You need it more than I do.”

Jean blinked slowly and stared at him. 

“....You can get those refilled on the other side?” Jean's face lit up. “That's great! Gimmie.”

“Huh? No, of course I can't!” Marco shook his head. “All they did was put everything back the way it was... except for a few things.” He pointed over his shoulder with a wry smile. “But other than the obvious, all of my gear is in the same condition it was in Trost. That means I have almost no gas left.”

“That's still better than no gas at all. Blades?”

“Three.” Marco held up his fingers. “Two are the ones I was using so they're a little dull but they're still serviceable. The last one is good as new. I guess the fourth blade must have fallen out when...” His voice trailed off as a haunted look crept into his wide brown eyes. His hands began to shake, but Marco quickly tucked his hands under his arms and hunched over, acting as if he were only chilled by a breeze. “It- it must've happened sometime between my death and waking up on the other side, so it didn't come along with me.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I'm sorry. If I was more careful...” 

“Don't apologize for something like that!” 

Jean growled and hit Marco on the shoulder hard enough that the sound made them both jump. Then they both cringed, albeit for entirely different reasons. Marco rubbed the sore spot on his arm and levelled a glare at his friend that Jean swore was actually, genuinely, physically burning into the side of his head. Jean kept his attention fixed on a random spot in the distance and refused to even think about looking Marco's direction. 

It was difficult enough to deal with his nagging when they were both alive, but now? If Jean could feel the effects of those glares when Marco was still hanging out in the afterlife, then it had to be at least a hundred times more powerful at point blank when he was standing less than an arm's length away. Marco managed to upgrade his usual aura of disapproval into a truly fearsome weapon.

Jean cleared his throat and mumbled “It's not your fault you died, idiot. Let it go.” 

A long silence followed before Marco replied. 

“...It's not your fault either,” he sighed as he ran a hand through his hair.

“But--!” Jean cut himself off with a scowl. 

He didn't have enough facts about what happened that day to start an argument about where to lay the blame. Marco had begged Jean to leave the matter of his death and his miraculous return alone. He asked for Jean to accept that Marco found a way back without question and without reservation (for now, at least) and that was exactly what he was going to do. Against his better judgement, he was going to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself because even though Marco was changed in ways that Jean was afraid to contemplate, it didn't change the fact that Marco was his best friend and his friend asked for a favour. 

Jean waved a hand as if the doubts could be swatted away like a bunch of flies. If only it was that easy.

“So what's your plan for how we're going to do this?”

Marco ducked his head to hide his smile. The old Jean Kirstein wouldn't have given up so quickly, not even for him. He already knew that his friend had mellowed considerably during their time apart but it was another thing entirely to see proof that Jean had changed with his own eyes. And yet, one thing hadn't changed at all: Jean was still terrible at social niceties. Jean was endearingly clumsy, always coming dangerously close to being offensively blunt and tactless in his honesty when he tried to be considerate. 

Jean made fewer people angry when he was deliberately being an ass. 

Marco remembered being unable to stop smiling for days after finally figuring out that Jean's irritating and persistent teasing was his version of being nice by pointing out things that could get him killed. When he honestly thanked Jean for the advice, the boy from Trost was so embarrassed at being found out, had blushed redder than he thought a person was capable of without hurting themselves, that Marco knew that his hunch was right. Jean really was a good person. 

And henceforth, armed with that kernel of knowledge about Jean's true nature, Marco was ridiculously charmed by the bluster and defensive prickliness. Likewise, Jean wasn't bothered by the less savoury aspects of Marco's temperament. It was one of the reasons they were such a good team back then and one of the reasons they were still able to get along now. Marco knew he was being unreasonable when he asked Jean to look the other way and pretend nothing strange was going on. He shouldn't have asked that of Jean but he couldn't think of a better course to take. 

“Marco? Hey, what's wrong?”

He looked up to see Jean's face creased with concern. Jean reached out and gently smoothed his hands over Marco's face as if he could wipe away melancholy on his friend's face. Just for a moment, Marco allowed his eyes to fall shut, allowed himself to fall forward so Jean could support both their weights, and revelled in the feeling of Jean's hands on his skin. He would have to tell Jean the truth eventually and all he could do was pray that Jean would be willing to forgive him again.

“You know you can tell me anything. Right?” 

Marco straightened with a small smile on his lips that was more reflex than anything.

“Of course I do, Jean. I don't like hiding things from you.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like old times, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have an extra-long chapter to apologize for taking so long to update. And I love writing banter and action scenes. Someone stop me if it looks like it's getting out of control.

“Okay, this is what we'll do.” Marco began detaching the blade case and gas tank on his left side. “First, I'm going to give you these since yours are a total loss. Don't give me that look. Neither of us has much experience flying unbalanced but I have a built-in way to compensate for no gas. You don't.” 

“Fine, fine...” 

Jean grumbled as he swapped out his broken case and empty tank for the ones offered up by Marco. They were close enough in size that they should be able to use each others gear with little difficulty and, thankfully, the borrowed case attached to the support plate on his thigh with minimal adjustment. He rapped a knuckle against the side of the tank and estimated that there was a quarter of gas remaining from the sound it made. 

It was nowhere near enough to take on an Aberrant type on top of the half dozen or so standard types milling around. Not without getting really creative. Thankfully, Jean wouldn't have to deal with all of those titans alone. It was funny how simply knowing that he had competent backup was enough to stave off the growing panic. 

Jean ran his fingers along the tubes connecting the tank to the engine as he considered the next step. Would it be better to bleed some of the gas through the system and split the remaining gas between the two tanks? No, some of the gas would escape and Jean was one of the few who already knew how to use the hooks independently. It'd be a waste. Should he ask Marco to surrender the other tank anyway? He shouldn't need it now that he had wings but... no. Marco must have a good reason to keep one for himself. 

Jean bit his lip. 

The ribs on his left side were in really bad shape and it was getting increasingly difficult to ignore. He could almost taste copper in his mouth whenever he inhaled too deeply and the pressure he put on his injured arm and wrist climbing up to this branch didn't help matters either. It was going to be tricky to fight without making things worse or revealing the extent of his injuries.

A warm hand pressed against his injured side and Jean was too startled to prevent a hiss of pain from escaping. 

“I knew it.” Marco looked more dismayed than anything. 

“It's not as bad as you think...” Jean sighed, defeated. “But, yeah, it hurts. I probably shouldn't put any pressure on that side.” 

“Then we won't.” The look in Marco's eyes hardened. “Jean, I want you to only use the hook on your left side so the harness won't put any additional strain on your ribs. We've practised using only one trigger to manoeuvre before so I know you can do it. Um. You do still remember how, right?”

Jean scoffed. 

“I don't know... would I forget something I was dragged out of bed in the dead of night to learn? Up before the sun was anywhere close to rising no matter what the weather was like, just so you could watch me flail around in the trees like an idiot? Of course I remember! Damn it, Marco. Do you have ANY idea how many people got the wrong idea about us when we kept disappearing every morning and coming back exhausted?!” 

“It won't be the wrong idea the next time they catch us sneaking out,” Marco chirped. His grin widened at the blush that Jean tried to hide in his hands. 

“I will get you for this.” 

“I look forward to it,” Marco replied. “Now back to the matter at hand...”

“Right.” Jean took a deep breath, held it, and released it slowly. The sharp focus was back when raised his head to meet Marco's eyes. “Okay. So, who's going to get which blades? I'll have to toss mine no matter what.”

“I should stick to one blade until I adjust to having these in the way.” 

A slight breeze hit Jean's face as the wings stretched out before refolding loosely against Marco's back. It was most likely an unconscious fidget and not a deliberate attempt to derail Jean's thoughts. This time, at least. Marco most certainly knew how badly he wanted to touch them. 

“Take one of the duller blades,” Jean said, “I don't want you to accidentally slice off anything important.” 

“That makes two of us,” Marco laughed. “Targets?” 

“One Aberrant type, ten to fifteen meters, and a whole lot of small standard types between four to ten metres tall. I'm not sure how many of the little guys are still hanging around.” Jean pointed in the direction that the other Scouting Legion solider rode off in. “The guy from before took at least one standard type with him but I was too dazed at the time to see if more went after him.”

Marco slowly turned his head to follow the path of the outstretched arm and stared at the horizon. Narrowed and unblinking eyes flickered as they tracked something in the distance. His smile drained away, leaving behind a grim set to his mouth and a tension in his limbs that had Jean wondering if was a mistake to point out the existence of the other Scouting Legion soldier. 

“H- hey, Marco?” Jean said with false cheer. “You said that technically you weren't alive earlier. Does that mean that the titans can't sense you anymore?”

Marco immediately shifted his attention to Jean upon hearing the question addressed to himself. Jean found himself wishing that his friend had poorer manners. 

His eyes were wrong. They were a normal brown just a minute ago but they weren't now and it wasn't just the colour that was wrong. Marco's eyes glittered with a light that was far too bright to be from reflected sunlight alone. Was... was that coming from inside his eyes? Jean wanted to cry “that's impossible!” but that was a hard claim to make on this day of all days. Marco's head tipped to one side, bird-like, and his lips curved into a too-wide rictus of a smile that hovered between benign curiosity and something else, something chilling. Jean's skin crawled with a primal and visceral fear. 

He backed away before he could resist the impulse. It was reflex, instinctual. Jean fled no further than a few centimetres but it was enough. Marco blinked, and then there was nothing but confusion and hurt twisting his features. They stared at each other for a few seconds before Marco's face and eyes fell. 

And for the second time that day, Jean found himself wondering why anyone would chose to become friends with someone as paranoid and tactless as him. He must really be losing his mind. Marco would never willingly put a friend in harm's way and Jean knew he was more than just a friend to him. Words tumbled from his mouth in his panicked rush to apologize, but the damage was already done. Marco listened quietly, nodded, and uttered the appropriate words of forgiveness but there was a new hesitation that wasn't there before. He turned away with a sort of quiet and resigned understanding that made Jean's chest feel tight. 

“I'll take care of the Aberrant Type while you take care of the others,” he said. 

Marco's hand tightened around the handle of his single blade, clutching the hilt hard enough that his knuckles turned white. The massive wings spread with a whoosh of displaced air. 

“Wait!” Jean shouted but his words were lost to the wind when Marco took flight. “Don't you dare run away from this! Come down here and let me explain already, you spineless chicken! Hey, I know you can hear me!” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Shit.” 

Jean shifted from foot to foot, paralysed with indecision. 

The greater part of him, the selfish and fearful part that never fully recovered from that first disastrous attempt at commanding a squad, wanted to throw caution away and chase after Marco. It didn't want to let Marco leave his sight. It didn't want to leave any misunderstandings, no matter how minor, to be argued about another day. Marco promised that they would have a later but should Jean believe him? What if things went wrong again? Jean's luck was truly awful, awe-inspiringly awful. What were the odds that he'd be blessed with a third chance to make amends? Very slim, that's what. 

No, Jean told himself sternly, stop that. Don't doubt him. Marco would never go back on his word. Didn't he say they'd see each other again after retaking Trost? It took a while but here he was: dead, and fulfilling his promise. If Marco said there was a later to look forward to then there would be, simple as that. And if Marco said he could handle the Aberrant Type alone then all Jean had to do was shut up and follow his lead. 

Jean took a breath and held it as he stepped off the branch. 

The wind immediately snatched at the loose fabric of his uniform, slowing his descent. Jean resisted the impulse to increase his speed with a quick burst of gas and used the extra time to take stock of the situation below. Most of the standard unintelligent titans were gathered around the base of the tree. It was difficult enough to kill a single titan with fully functioning gear; it would be more than a challenge to strike down several in a single pass with only gravity and one working hook on his side. Fortunately, these titans were almost the same size as the mock-ups that the Trainees Corps used to practice on. All he had to do was stay alert for stray hands, have faith in those long hours of practice, and trust his muscle memory to make up for the rest until Marco came back to help.

“Right. Piece of cake,” Jean muttered as he fixed the locations and dimensions of the titans in his mind. 

He kicked off the trunk of the tree and tucked his arms in close, sending himself into a tight spin that passed perilously close to the tallest of the standard type titans. There should have been enough speed and momentum behind the blade for it to pass through cleanly, but it caught on something in the titan's neck – bone perhaps – and Jean's heart leapt into his throat. The trapped blade was nearly ripped from the weakened grip of his left hand before it managed to drag through the snagged flesh with a jolt that was felt all the way up his arm. The cut was far from pretty but was good enough to kill it. 

He sent a mental prayer of thanks in Marco's direction for having the foresight to attach the sharpest blade to Jean's injured hand. 

Jean twisted in mid-air and flung out his limbs to stabilize himself as the lone hook caught in the rapidly dissolving body. His fingers brushed the ground. The hook held just long enough for Jean to reel in at maximum speed, launching himself flying skyward and away from the grasping hands of the other titans. He chanced a look down at the crowd. 

Not a single one had moved to pursue Marco. Not one, save for the Aberrant titan which was more attracted to motion than it was to clusters of humans. There might actually be some truth to what Jean jokingly claimed earlier. Maybe Marco really was invisible to the senses of the titans. 

With that thought in mind, Jean found his eyes drawn over to battle on the far side of the abandoned farm... where Marco's speckled brown wings cut through the air with distracting grace. Sunlight glinted off the naked blade in his hand but the Aberrant Type tracked the older boy's movements easily, leaping and grasping at the darting figure as it passed. Marco was forced to react quickly. He dodged by changing direction with a speed and precision that suggested mechanical assistance rather than skill. 

So that's why Marco wanted to keep a gas canister for himself.

He forced himself to look away when gravity began to take hold once more. 

Jean angled the hook at a point just above the vertical limit that the gear's wires could extend and retracted the line while propelling himself toward the ground with a burst of gas from the rapidly dwindling supply. This time he left the hook embedded in the bark. His finger slid off the trigger to ensure that he wouldn't hit the release switch or waste any more gas by unconsciously tensing his hand. Jean had spent too much time boasting about his 3DMG abilities to make a stupid mistake now. And if he smashed himself in the ground and broke every bone in his body? 

Well... at least Marco was here to show him the way to the other side. 

The wire sent shrieking vibrations up the braided length that could be felt deep in his bones. The lop-sided pull of the harness dug into already abused flesh, forming the beginnings of a new set of spectacularly painful bruises. Jean gripped the blades tight, eyes wide, waiting for two titans to begin turning to face him as he zipped past before swinging down. This time, the blades sliced clean through the exposed backs of their necks. The ground rushed up to meet him and the gear casing creaked and groaned, threatening to buckle from the strain as Jean's full weight hit the vertex of the downward arc. He couldn't bite back the harsh cry of pain that escaped when the harness did its work – distributing the g-forces through the belts and snapping tight against his fractured ribs. 

His vision went dark.

Marco's head shot up and he cried “Jean!” as he disengaged with the Aberrant Type.

The blackout couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. It wasn't really cause for alarm but it must have looked pretty bad because as soon as consciousness returned, Jean was treated to the split-second sight of Marco's panicked face before he was hit by the feathered missile. The air rushed from his lungs and Jean blacked out for a second time. 

The next time he regained consciousness, Jean felt fingers twisted securely into the harness straps at his waist while another hand clutched the back of his wrinkled jacket. Marco was curled protectively over him, cradling Jean's injured body against his broad chest and holding on as tight as he dared while straining to gain altitude. Marco's abandoned blade rattled in the hilt as it swung below them, forgotten, from the cord connecting it to the rest of his gear. 

“Stop,” Jean gasped. He answered Marco's watery smile with a furious scowl. “That hurt you god-damned mother hen. If my ribs weren't broken before then they certainly are now!”

“I was worried,” Marco protested. 

“I had it under control.” Mostly, Jean added mentally. “What about the Aberrant Type? Did you kill it?”

“Oh.” Marco's face reddened. “Uh, no. It's madder now and it's chasing us. Me. I almost had it but then I... you were... sorry, I made things worse.” 

Jean craned his neck and looked down. The Aberrant Type was indeed following them, with the two remaining standard types trailing after it like a couple of grotesque ducklings. Jean scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned wearily. 

“I don't suppose you could just fly us back to the Scouting Legion's headquarters?” He asked hopefully. 

Marco smiled apologetically and shook his head. “As much as I enjoy having you in my arms... you're really, really heavy.” 

From the way his arms were quivering, Marco wasn't lying about being unable to support another person's weight for a long period of time. So much for the easy solution. But perhaps this was for the best because with his luck, being any significant distance from the ground was just asking for trouble. It would be safer to walk back and risk getting eaten along the way. Jean sighed and took mental stock of his body's condition. It was still in good enough shape to deal with the three remaining titans, probably, although he would definitely need to see a doctor the moment he got back. 

“We should take them out together.”

Jean stared at him. “But aren't you mad at me right now?” 

Marco huffed and made a face. “You did something stupid and I did something stupid. Let's just call it even.” 

“Sounds good to me!” Jean grinned. “So... do you want to take point on this?”

“I think I should stick to being support,” Marco said sheepishly. “That's how we always practised it, after all.” 

They peered at the ground below and saw the three titans were still obediently trudging after them with wide, vacant smiles. 

Marco hadn't managed to get very far from their original position – they were now above the single storey building that stood a few hundred meters away from the lone giant tree. There were few structures of notable height on this side of the abandoned farm as the majority of the buildings were clustered over by the rusty silo and the dilapidated barn. Marco, who had been climbing higher and higher a wide spiral, now angled his wings so they could glide closer to the tree and the remaining buildings. 

Jean adjusted his grip on his blades, holding them close to his body. “Okay. Drop me anytime you're ready.”

“Brace yourself,” Marco warned.

“...Huh?” 

Those quick words and a tightening of Marco's arms was the only warning that Jean got. Marco flipped over in the air in an almost lazy arc, craning his head back to look the ground before snapping his wings shut when they began to fall. The wind screamed. It rushed through the dark feathers, tearing mercilessly at hair and clothes and skin, as the pair cut through the air with a dizzying speed that was beyond that reachable by the 3DMG alone. It would be exhilarating, if only Jean wasn't so injured that it was a struggle to focus on anything beyond the immediate task. 

“Aberrant,” Jean gasped.

Marco didn't reply; he didn't have to. He braced a hand against Jean's chest before banking sharply and shoving him away to continue on alone. Marco reached out to grab the handle of the dangling blade he soared past, climbing with ease now that he was relieved of his burden. Jean fired a hook into the shoulder of the Aberrant. It roared and spun to chase after Marco's dark shadow and Jean used its momentum to carry him within striking distance of a lunging 5 meter class. 

Too shallow. 

Jean cursed as the Aberrant's jerky movements tore the hook free. He reversed his grip on the right blade and crammed it into the case, freeing his hand just in time to close around Marco's wrist. Marco's fingers tightened around Jean's hand and held on with bruising force. The dark-haired boy turned sharply with the aid of a noisy burst of gas, spinning in a tight arc before flinging Jean toward the fallen 5 metre class. 

This time he managed to cut deep enough to kill but a lot of speed was lost in the process. The titan's flesh absorbed too much momentum. Jean wouldn't be able to fire a hook high enough to prevent impact now. 

Just as he completed that thought, a cable shot past his face and embedded deep in the upper wall of the dilapidated barn. Marco followed close after. He wrapped an arm around his friend's middle as he passed by, wings angled to catch the upward rising breeze. Jean's eyes tracked the two remaining titans as they rose into the sky.

“I have to say...” he mused as they gained altitude, “not having to worry about the terrain is awesome.” 

“I feel like we're cheating,” Marco sighed. 

“We're just taking advantage of what's available to us,” Jean said cheerfully. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“...still feels like cheating,” he mumbled unhappily. 

“I tell you what... if anyone tries to give you shit about it, I'll rearrange their face for you no matter who it is. Okay? I promise.”

Marco burst into delighted laughter and pressed a kiss into tousled brown hair. “You say the sweetest things. Now, shall we finish these last two off?”

Jean wasn't prepared for the sudden drop and acceleration before. He was now.

“Sure,” he said, “whenever you're ready.” 

Marco dove at a less steep angle than before but this time, the wings wrapped around them both. Marco hugged Jean close as he increased their speed by reducing the drag caused by their clothes and less than aerodynamic bodies. Jean's fingers tapped against the arm wrapped securely around his stomach and the massive wings snapped open immediately. 

Marco's arm slipped away to allow Jean to continue the rest of the way down alone. There was no need to be fancy this time. He didn't need to impress anyone. 

A hook embedded into the Aberrant type's neck. Jean hit the retraction switch as he raised the twin blades in preparation to strike and saw a dark brown blur dart past in his peripheral vision. Marco. It was Marco, with a grim expression and his single blade clutched tightly in both hands and a titan already screaming its death throes. Marco carved a single, deep furrow into the monstrous flesh of the other titan's neck as he dove toward the ground, waiting for the last possible moment before pulling up. The wings flapped twice, altering the angle just enough for Marco to twist in mid-air so he could fire a hook at the towering tree behind them in preparation for a second pass. 

Jean missed the moment that Marco struck down the titan, too focused on his own target. He heard the screech of a retracting line, heard the solid thump of something massive hit the ground, and felt the buffeting heat of a dissolving body before his own blades sank into the neck of the Aberrant Type. He looked up. Marco was already waiting on the far side with his single blade holstered and hands stretched out. He grabbed hold and pulled his injured friend close with surprising strength and gentleness. 

Marco angled his wings to carefully reduce their speed and they came to a clumsy stop, feet skidding in the dirt and still wrapped around each other. 

Jean released a breath that he wasn't aware he was holding and tried to get his traitorous fingers to unclench from Marco's shirt. It took several tries before his shaking hands decided to listen. Marco's hands slid down to rest lightly on Jean's hips, fearful of causing more damage if he held on too tightly but unwilling to let go.

“That went better than expected!” Jean laughed. 

“You're having trouble breathing deeply,” Marco chided, “and your left wrist is starting to swell. That doesn't seem very good to me.”

“We're still alive,” Jean pointed out with a grin. “Any fight you can walk away from, or something like that. Right?”

Marco did not smile. In fact, he looked more upset than he had at any other point that day. The grin on Jean's face froze. There was something about the way Marco's head was bowed and the faint tremors in his hands that made Jean suspect that a significant portion of the anger wasn't directed at him. 

It was then that Jean remembered Marco's annoying tendency to blame himself for being unable to stop his teammates from making stupid and sometimes fatal mistakes. It seemed that dying didn't teach Marco to accept that some things were beyond human control and there was nothing that they could do about it. Yes, the fight had worsened Jean's injuries but the injuries were nowhere near life threatening (yet). There was no reason for that stricken expression to be on his face. After all, most of the blame lay with Jean himself for being careless.

Jean prodded Marco in the chest with his right finger and snapped “I'm not dead and that's all that matters, so stop acting like you could've done something to stop this from happening! You're good, but not that good.” 

“I shouldn't have made you face all those titans alone,” Marco shot back. “You got hurt and I couldn't even manage to take out the Aberrant by myself.” 

“I was already injured before you showed up!” 

“Yeah, but your condition worsened because I let my emotions get the better of me. That was right after I made a big deal about us working together again, too.” Marco crossed his arms. “It was a bad idea to split up. I made a bad call and you followed my plan, so the blame rests with me.” 

“Hey, I thought you said that I was supposed to be the boss here,” Jean protested. 

Marco's expression softened slightly. “...Leader. I said leader.”

“Boss, leader. What's the difference?”

Marco hummed. He tapped his chin with a finger with a faraway look in his eyes and a mischievous smile on his face. Jean narrowed his eyes. 

“...what?” 

“Nothing!” Marco's smile was a few shades too bright to be anything but suspicious. “In any case, would you accept my apology already so we can move on?”

Jean sighed. 

Marco really was a good fighter back in their trainee days but all the training in the world couldn't make up for raw experience against the titans. The problem of Marco's inexperience was further compounded by the addition of a new variable in the form of wings. It wasn't that Jean didn't have faith in his friend's abilities; he did! He was only concerned about Marco's ability to adjust to changes made to his body. And seeing that some feathers on Marco's left wing were noticeably shorter than they were a few minutes ago, Jean was right to be worried. 

There was no way that he, somewhat experienced member of the Scouting Legion with several missions under his belt, could allow Marco, 7th ranked graduate of the Trainee Corps who died in his first sortie, to fend off all those titans alone. 

“Stop acting like it's your fault I messed myself up further,” Jean said. “This is nobody's fault but mine.”

“No,” Marco said.

“What do you mean, 'no'?” Jean scowled. “This whole situation is my fault. Don't try to deny it! If I didn't freak out when that Aberrant Type showed up, a lot more people would still be alive and we wouldn't be stuck out here!” 

“Maybe.”

“Ma--” Jean's shout was cut off. 

“From what I saw,” Marco said firmly. He glared at Jean until he fell silent, sullenly. “Your poor decisions only compounded an already bad situation. You weren't the only person out here that panicked and made a mistake. You're also forgetting that you're still a new recruit in the eyes of the Scouting Legion. This isn't...” He swallowed. “This isn't like Trost. It shouldn't be – and it wasn't – your responsibility to keep everyone alive.”

Marco turned to stare at something in the distance that only he could see. 

“If there was anyone whose poor decisions should be blamed...” 

That strange light was back. It made Marco's eyes shift from its normal brown, warm like milk chocolate, to something sharper and brighter. It was reminiscent of the bright yellow eyes of hawks and owls that occasionally ventured into the wall cities in search of prey. Appropriate, given that Jean was pretty sure he knew what (or to be more accurate, who) his friend kept glaring at. It was entirely possible that whoever was responsible for restoring Marco's body decided to add more than just wings. 

Although... given that Marco confessed he had been spying on Jean from the afterlife, it was more than just “possible” that all of his friend's senses were upgraded. 

Jean suddenly found himself wondering what would be the more humane choice. Should he be hoping that the soldier who screwed up and ran away was still alive, so he could face the full wrath of an overprotective mother-hen with new and unknown powers at his disposal? Or should he be praying that the soldier had already died and moved on to some place out of Marco's reach? Then again, didn't Marco say that he was technically still a dead man? In that case, there was nothing stopping Marco from chasing after the fallen soldier to exact revenge if he was determined and angry enough. 

Nothing except for an obvious reluctance to let Jean out of his sight. 

And to be fair, he was just as repelled by the idea of staying away as Marco was. Their reunion was an honest to goodness miracle and Jean still wasn't wholly convinced that he wasn't imagining everything. Grief and bottling up emotions could do funny things to people. Jean couldn't shake the feeling that Marco would vanish if he looked away for too long and he was pretty damn sure that he wasn't the only one feeling paranoid. 

“Uh, Marco?”

This time, Marco kept his eyes focused in the distance and didn't turn to face him. “What is it, Jean.” 

“Just for the record? I'm not that mad at that guy anymore,” Jean said. “It was an honest mistake.”

“Are you sure that you want to forgive him?” Marco asked mildly.

Jean nodded quickly and said “Yeah” before he could change his mind. 

Marco closed his eyes and breathed out. His features smoothed into a neutral and genial expression that erased all traces of that unsettling anger from earlier as if it was never there. It wouldn't fool someone who knew him as well as Jean did, but twice already had he managed to terrify his friend by allowing his guard to slip too far. Marco wouldn't make that mistake a third time. Increasing the distance between them was preferable to giving Jean a reason to look at him with fear. 

“Okay,” Marco said with his usual smile, “then I will too.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Marco realized it moments after the words left his mouth because Jean's expression soured immediately. Jean's brows furrowed and his shoulders grew tense as he drew himself up to his full height in preparation for an argument that Marco didn't want to have now. Or ever. Jean got as far as jabbing an accusatory finger in Marco's direction before the compounded injuries made themselves known. All of the colour drained out of Jean's face and strangled noise escaped his throat. Jean hunched over and clutched at his left side. 

Marco felt a surge of relief for the interruption and, just as quickly, felt awful for it. It was true that he wanted to avoid another argument but not like this. Not if the price was seeing his best friend in such pain. 

“What happened? How are you feeling? Can you still walk or--?” Marco's hands fluttered over Jean's shoulders. He couldn't tell if touching him at this point would worsen his condition, so he asked “Can I touch you?”

Jean grabbed a handful of Marco's jacket in a white-knuckled grip.

“Please tell me how I can help,” Marco pleaded. “I really don't want to take you back with me yet.”

Jean sucked in a shallow breath and answered. “Moved too fast. Feel like shit. Yeah, I can walk but not very far.” He cracked open an eye and gave Marco a cheeky grin. “And of course you can. Please do.” 

Marco huffed, cheeks turning pink. “If you're healthy enough to flirt, then it can't be that bad.”

Jean let out a bark of laughter that turned into a pained groan halfway through. 

“Stop making it worse,” he sighed and slipped underneath Jean's right arm. 

“Ow. Okay, yeah, I'm not going to do that again.” Jean cringed and allowed Marco to take most of his weight. 

It was fortunate that their heights were still nearly the same so it wasn't difficult for Marco to support Jean as they slowly made their way to the one storey building that was probably the main residence of the abandoned farm. It was weird and a little awkward. If he closed his eyes, it was easy to pretend it was another regular day back when he was still a hot-headed brat. Jean consistently pushed his body too far in his haste to reach the top 10 and often had no choice but to rely on the support of his friend's sturdier frame and steadier temper to make it back to the barracks safely. It was almost like the old days. 

Almost. 

Except now, every time that Jean stumbled, Marco didn't reach out to steady them by wrapping his arms around Jean's shoulders. He restored their balance by snapping out those massive wings and buffeting the ground with a burst of wind, kicking up sand and dirt that flew into their faces. Jean squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face against Marco's neck. He didn't like how automatic the reaction was. He didn't want to think about what it meant for Marco to be able to use those wings like he was born with them. He felt more than heard the questioning sound that Marco made as he turned to rub his cheek against the crown of Jean's head. 

“...'s nothing,” Jean mumbled, “just hurts.” 

“Let this be a lesson to be more careful in the future,” Marco chided. Despite the sharpness of the words, his voice was low and tempered with affection. “Come on, I need you to stand up on your own for a minute.”

Jean grunted. “Why?”

Marco's hands lingered on his waist, holding on firmly until Jean shifted his weight from Marco to the outside wall of the abandoned house. He didn't let go until Jean hooked an arm over a thick square beam that protruded from the wall. It was probably originally used for hanging baskets of flowers but all the remained now was a hook and a shattered ceramic pot on the ground. Assured that Jean was no longer in danger of falling over, Marco stepped back and walked toward the closed door.

“What're you doing?” Jean asked curiously. 

Marco glanced over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the door that was sitting at a slight angle in the frame. The door could be stuck but the wood appeared to be starting to rot from moisture and neglect. Marco rocked back on his heels and looked around. A strong impact would be enough to force it open but the noise could attract unwanted attention.

“Be right back,” Marco said as he took to the skies. 

He heard Jean shout something in protest but the words were lost the sound of the wind in his ears. He ascended as quickly as his wings would allow and began circling over the abandoned farm in an outward growing spiral. All of the stray titans should have been killed or driven off already but Marco didn't want to take the chance of being caught off guard. It can't hurt to be extra cautious, he thought as his vision sharpened beyond that perceivable by human eyes. 

It didn't take more than a few minutes to survey their surroundings and confirm that there were no immediate threats in the area. 

Marco landed softly a few meters away from his starting position and walked back to the house. Jean was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. The only emotion that was clearly identifiable was annoyance and he only knew that from long experience as Jean's closest friend and confidant. Marco flashed him a smile that wasn't returned and pivoted sharply on his heel before kicking the door with a deafening bang. The rotten wooden frame gave way with a burst of splinters that exploded around the hinges, causing the door to swing inward and bounce off a wall before ripping free from the rusted metal and clattering to ground. 

A plume of dust and dirt rose around the edges of the door. Marco poked his head into the house and glanced to either side before disappearing inside without a word. He reemerged moments later and trotted down the stairs with a bright smile. He held out a hand for Jean to take and had the gall to look confused and offended when it was slapped away. 

“What the hell was that?!” Jean clutched at his chest and glared. 

“Sorry...” Marco scratched his cheek sheepishly. “I just wanted to make sure it was safe to do this.”

“What, breaking and entering?” Jean snapped. “You turning to a life of crime now? First you spy on me and now this.”

“Hey! We both know you like it when I watch,” Marco protested. He cleared his throat. “And in any case, I'm pretty sure that the original owners would understand if we explained the situation.” He stretched out his arms and waited for Jean to make the first move. “I'm not doing this because I like it. I'm doing this so you can survive. You need medical attention and we might be able to find something useful in here.” 

Jean growled irritably and maintained his distance for a whole ten seconds before he reached out to take Marco's hand. The smile on Marco's face crumbled the moment that Jean pressed himself against his friend's body, revealing fear and doubt that was swiftly replaced by his usual cheer. The arms wrapped around his body tightened enough to jostle his injured ribs but Jean forced himself to not react and allowed himself to be carried inside without protest.

The interior of the building was primarily a wide open space where the living and dining area melded into the kitchen without any obvious divisions beyond placement of furniture. There was a wall off to the side where there was a steep staircase bracketed by a set of closed doors that probably led to the bedrooms. The staircase led to a second storey loft where Jean could see cobweb covered evidence that it was filled with the kind of miscellaneous clutter that all large families accumulate over time. There were very few signs remaining of the personalities of the former residents, so they must have had enough warning to escape with their valuables. It was more than many who had lived in Shiganshina and Trost could claim. 

Marco set Jean down in a chair at what was once the dining room table. The chair creaked underneath his weight but it held with no further complaint. Marco wiped his hands on his pants, leaving behind dusty brown smudges on his thighs as he began poking through the kitchen cupboards. Jean lay his head down on his folded arms and listened to the sound of someone moving around unfamiliar surroundings. After several minutes of cabinet doors clattering open and shut in rapid succession over a constant background of quiet muttering, Jean couldn't hold his tongue any longer.

“I'm pretty sure that any supplies you find will be expired,” he called out, voice was muffled by the table. 

Marco squinted at the label on a bottle and before setting it back down gently and moving on to the next container.

“Bandages can't expire,” Marco replied as he shut the cupboard door and moved onto the next set of shelves. “Oh, and take off your shirt. I want to see if there are any open wounds.”

Jean grumbled “I'd know if there were” but pushed himself upright and obeyed. Slowly. Gingerly. He only managed to get as far as removing his jacket and part of the 3DMG harness before Marco made a triumphant noise and returned holding a large wooden box that was painted in the most eye-searing colours known to man. Jean stared at it in mild horror. 

“That's the ugliest thing I've ever seen.” 

Marco shrugged and said, “You have to admit that this makes it easy to find in a dark cupboard. My grandma does the same thing.”

Jean shifted his disbelieving stare to Marco's face. “Does your granny have eye problems?” 

“Only the ones that come from old age,” Marco said as he laid out the contents of the box on the table. 

They were fortunate that the former residents had the foresight to prepare for emergency treatment of the whole spectrum of strange farm work related injuries. One of them must have had some degree of medical training. Jean eyed the lineup of medical paraphernalia with open suspicion as he undid the buttons of his shirt and shrugged out of it. 

“Okay, have at it.” Jean slapped his hands on his thighs and sat up straighter. “I hope you know what you're doing.” 

“Sure,” Marco said as he picked up a roll of gauze. “I'm pretty sure I remember how this goes.”

Jean cleared his throat. “Just to confirm, not that I'm doubting your skill or anything, but if I die, you know how to get me safely to the other side... right? And we'll be together?” 

Marco frowned. “Are you suggesting that I might accidentally kill you? With bandages and disinfectant.” 

“No! I'm just...” Jean bit his lip and glanced away. “I'm just curious. And maybe a teensy bit worried that I might be too hurt for first aid to do any good.” 

“I was joking,” Marco sighed. “I remember the medical training and I've got plenty of experience patching you up over the years. I'm interested in keeping you alive and well, remember? Trust me.” 

“Alright then,” Jean said, face filled with poorly concealed doubt. “I'll trust that you won't intentionally cause my death.” 

“Wow, Jean. I don't know what to say,” Marco said dryly. “I'm humbled by your confidence in me.” 

“Let's just get this over with before I pass out.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bickering like... good friends? An old married couple?

“Are you really sure that—” 

Marco slapped a hand on the table and snapped, “For the last time, yes I know what I'm doing! Why can't you take a joke?”

“This is my health on the line here!” 

"Then maybe you should've thought of that before you flew into a tree," Marco chided.

Jean self-consciously crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Hey, I have a right to be worried. What I did to myself is a lot worse than anything you've had to treat on your own before.”

“No, not really.” Marco grabbed the crossed arms and forced them back down. Jean made an annoyed noise and after taking in the displeased expression on his friend's face, Marco reluctantly conceded “but it is pretty close to the worse I've ever seen you do to yourself.”

Jean stopped resisting and said, “finally. Thank you. Now will you tell me why you're so damn confidant that you're not going to make things worse?” 

“Do we really have to go into this now? Again?” Marco groaned wearily. He finished tying off the gauze wrapped around Jean's torn and bloody knuckles and set the roll aside. “...fine, have it your way.” He folded his hands into his lap and gave Jean an annoyed look that clearly said that this was the last time he was going to repeat himself. “There are a couple reasons. First, all trainees received first aid training and I still remember the lessons. Second, I actually had to apply that knowledge and ended up gaining more practical experience than I ever wanted to have... all because you couldn't resist getting into fights.”

“I wasn't the one who started all those fights,” Jean protested. “What, would you have preferred if I acted like a doormat and let them get away with the things they said?” 

“No, I didn't say that.” Marco frowned. “What I'm saying that you're too willing to let things to escalate into physical confrontations when there are less bloody solutions available.” 

“Well I'm not like that now,” Jean said petulantly.

“And believe me, I'm really happy to see that. Honestly, I am. But—” 

“But nothing!" Jean interrupted. "It's fine now. I'm not that person anymore and, besides, you're here to keep me from relapsing. Isn't that right?” 

Marco mumbled something under his breath and looked away. It was true that he came back because he wanted to keep a closer watch on Jean but he cringed at having to hear it verbalized like that. It made it sound like he didn't trust Jean when nothing could be further from the truth. However, from way Jean's grin grew more smug the longer Marco avoided eye contact, it was safe to bet that he guessed the real reason why Marco was here – the reason that he was too embarrassed to say out loud. 

“You've got nothing to worry about, Marco. The only person I want holding my leash...” Jean leaned in and whispered, “...is still you.”

Marco squirmed and choked out a strangled “please stop that” as his freckled cheeks turned crimson.

“Stop what?” Jean asked innocently. 

“Stop making me so happy, I'm trying to be mad at you!”

“You know, reacting like that isn't going to make me wanna stop.” Jean's grin widened. 

“Do you want me to explain things or not?” Marco made a face and said, “And get those arms out of my way. I'm not done examining you yet.”

“Well in that case, I'm sorry. Go on.” Jean leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms behind his head. 

“Good.”

Marco's eyes wandered over Jean's bared torso as his lightly calloused hands slid over the bruised skin and abused muscles. The touch was light, so light it would've been dismissed as imagined if not for the lingering heat that trailed behind in the wake of his fingertips. Jean's breath caught. He watched with hooded eyes as Marco's fingers traced up the curve of his ribs before gliding back down over the smooth planes of his stomach. They came to a rest on the boundary between skin and fabric, where his thumb slid over the buckle of Jean's belt. 

The intensity in those brown eyes and the faint tremor in those warm hands made Jean wonder what was going through Marco's mind. Was he actually looking for injuries? Jean wondered, or was he trying to come up with a plausible excuse to get rid of Jean's pants? Jean didn't managed to reach a conclusion before he noticed the shift in Marco's focus. The freckled boy breathed out slowly and raised his eyes to meet Jean's, but his hands did not move from where they settled. 

“So... about your credentials?” Jean prompted before his mouth could blurt out something else. 

Marco blinked. 

“Oh," he said. "Right. So, I have a lot of practical experience with patching you up but I was always worried that what we learned in class wouldn't be enough. That brings me to my third and fourth points.” 

“Which are?” 

Marco hesitated before bowing his head and saying “Third, I approached the instructor and got extra lessons by saying that I was considering a career change to medical staff.” 

Jean looked angry but his voice was weak and unsteady when he asked, “But you weren't, were you?" He swallowed. "Going to change paths."

"Of course not!" Marco's eyes widened and he shook his head in immediate denial. “I wasn't. I'd never leave you behind without saying something first.” He bit his lip and continued in a hushed voice, “not if I could help it, at least.”

“Good." That came out too forceful and Marco was startled into looking at right him. "I mean, that's good to know, I guess.” Jean awkwardly cleared his throat. “Uh, so what's that last reason of yours?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah. That…” The melancholy dropped away in favour of a sheepish and embarrassed smile. “Well, I kept seeing you in dangerous situations and I just—" Marco rubbed his nose and mumbled, "I didn't want to see you again. Not so soon.”

Jean reeled back as if struck. “Wha-”

“No! Wait, that didn't come out right!” Marco waved his hands. “I really missed you, Jean, don't misunderstand! And I, well, I did sort of... uh, might have misrepresented the truth a little? To put myself on the fast-track back here because I just couldn't stop worrying." His eyes dropped into his lap. "It was selfish of me, I know. I should've stayed away so you would have to move on… but I couldn't— I didn't want to let go."

“...so you lied to god? And got away with it?” Jean's eyes widened in a mix of horror and awe. 

Marco answered with a nervous smile.

"Holy shit." Jean ran a hand through his hair. "I swear I will never doubt your feelings for me again. Ever. And for the record? I love you too and would've done the same in your place but, shit, would it have killed you to set the bar a little lower? How am I supposed to top a gesture like that?”

Marco blushed. “I would say it was more like not mentioning certain details than outright lying..."

"Lying by omission is still lying." 

"It was to a representative! You know, the equivalent of a paper-pushing bureaucrat? Middle management. I didn't say it to big guy in charge, himself.” Marco flashed him another uneasy smile. “But that's not the point. The point is that I didn't want our reunion to happen because you died a fool's death.”

“I'm not that clumsy and suicidal,” Jean protested. 

“Sure.” Marco said dryly, regaining his earlier good humour. “In any case, I guess all my worrying ended up worrying the other guys hanging around to watch over their loved ones. The next thing I know, one of them pulls me aside and says...” He cleared his throat and let out a surprisingly convincing girlish falsetto. “If you're dead set on going back to that living hell, then I'd better give you a few pointers so you and your friend won't regret it.”

“Am I supposed to guess who that was?” 

“No, I guess you couldn't know.” Marco shrugged and explained. “She was a trauma medic that was attached to some kind of specialized unit that the Scouting Legion used to have. Instructor Shadis name-dropped her once as an example of why we should all know basic first aid. She noticed that I was... um.” 

“Stalking me? Peeping? Being creepy?” Jean offered with a smile. 

“Worried about my best friend,” Marco said firmly. “So she drilled all she could remember about being a doctor into my head."

"Sugar-coat it all you like, Marco, but don't forget that I can tell when you're watching me." 

Marco pretended he didn't hear Jean's comments. "And now you know all the reasons why you should stop worrying so much because I know what I'm doing.” 

“Fair enough,” Jean conceded with an ease that made Marco eye him suspiciously. “But now I have to ask, if you're so qualified, tell me again why we have to wait for a doctor back at headquarters to give me a clean bill of health before we can do it?” 

“Jean!” Marco squawked and punched him in the uninjured arm. “Know some shame, will you?!”

“Oh come on, there's nobody around to hear us.” Jean hooked his fingers into the harness straps on Marco's thighs and tugged on them. 

Marco slapped his hands away and hissed, "not in someone else's home!"

“You only said you didn't want to do it somewhere dangerous," Jean insisted. "Well, we're not in that tree anymore and there are no titans around either. So what do you say?” 

“I said no. Not here and not now.” Marco crossed his arms over his chest and turned his face away. “I'm serious, Jean. I'm not taking any chances where your life is concerned. Besides, I had to wait over two years for you to get over yourself and come around. I even had to die before you finally got a clue! It serves you right to have to wait.” 

“Oh,” Jean said as if he just received an epiphany. “So that's why you're so mad.” 

“No, that is not the only reason I'm still mad at you.” Marco stood and began packing away the contents of the borrowed first-aid kit. “Now get up and get dressed. We need to keep moving unless you want to trick your mother into thinking you died…?”

“Of course I don't.” Jean obeyed after only a slight hesitation. “Don't even suggest that.”

“Then I suggest you quit trying to convince me to have sex with you in the wilderness. We're waiting until we're back inside the walls and that's final.” 

"Fine, fine…" Jean grumbled unhappily. "Spoil sport."

Marco sighed and turned to offer his friend a helping hand. “Jean, I saw what dying did to my family. I don't want to see the same thing happen to yours. Especially since you're not actually, you know…" he glanced away. "Gone.” 

Jean fell silent. He stared down at their hands, one tanned by the sun and the other too pale to be healthy, and squeezed Marco's with bruising force. He didn't speak. Jean didn't trust himself or his voice to remain steady but, somehow, Marco understood without words. The older boy –was he still the older one?– smiled sadly and laced their fingers together. 

He tugged an unresponsive Jean along as he replaced the first-aid kit in the cupboard where he found it and walked outside.

Jean continued clinging to Marco's hand even as they stumbled down the stairs and began walking toward the Scouting Legion's headquarters. He stared at the emblem of crossed swords on a grey field with a hollow, haunted expression. All too aware of the wings of blue and white on his own shoulder, Jean wished desperately for green unicorns. If there was any fairness in the world there would be matching crests on their jackets. Their families would be living comfortably off the salaries of their Military Police sons and unaffected by the upheaval caused by the breach of Wall Rose while their boys relaxed in the luxury of the interior. In the safety and the routine of the Military Police, they would finally have to time to acknowledge that things had changed between them. They'd be free to explore this (not actually) new facet of their friendship at a leisurely pace. It would've been perfect. 

“Jean, you would've hated it there.” Marco's voice was barely above a whisper. 

“You can't know that for sure! We—it could've been fine.” Jean choked out. 

He pressed his face against Marco's back and jolted at the warmth and solidity of the wings. He felt the downy softness of the feathers where they were attached to Marco's back. He felt the feathers clinging to his damp cheeks and his throat and chest clenched at the reminder that Marco wasn't actually back. Not completely. Definitely not permanently. Marco could disappear at any moment and just like before, there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. 

A strangled noise escaped Jean's throat but the outward calm that Marco was exuding didn't falter. Marco would have been able to fool anyone into thinking he was unaffected if it were not for one thing: those large speckled brown wings. Still unused to their presence, Marco couldn't exert the same degree of control over them that he wielded over the rest of his body. The wings shifted restlessly, twitching in a motion that was half way between fidgeting and deliberateness, brushing up against Jean's face and body with feathers that were puffed in agitation. They betrayed the true state of Marco's mind. 

“No, I guess I can't know that,” Marco said softly, “but I do know you.” He sighed. It felt like he was doing that a lot lately. “And to be honest, from what I witnessed… I probably would have hated it there too.”

That caught Jean's attention. He lifted his face from where it was pressed into the juncture between Marco's wings and said, “what?” in a disbelieving tone. “But serving the King is your dream. Your life goal!” 

“Yes, it was." Marco stated. "And your dream was to join the Military Police so you could move your family to the interior, and yet here you are.” 

Jean sputtered. 

“Where did you hear that?!" He spun Marco around, grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and shook him for emphasis. "Tell me!"

"You told me!" Marco exclaimed, eyes wide with shock.

"Liar, I never told you that! I never told ANYONE that except…” He swore. “Damn. It had to be that old hag," He muttered. "I never should've told her about you. I bet she got the wrong idea about us, just like everyone else." Jean narrowed his eyes. "Did she write you behind my back? She did, didn't she? How else would you know that?! Shit," A note of alarm crept into his voice. "What else did she tell you? Fess up!”

“Wait, you told your mother about me?" Marco found himself smiling giddily. "…about us?" 

"Of course I did, moron! Now answer the question!" 

He couldn't begin to imagine which stories Jean chose to share with his mother. Jean made it pretty clear that he liked girls so why was he overreacting like this? Did he say or do something that could make Mrs. Kirstein jump to new conclusions about her son's preferences? He must have. But if Jean was still too embarrassed to publicly admit the truth about them, then it would trivial to pass off their closeness as a by-product of being best friends who had gone through hell together. They had years of experience doing just that, after all.

And besides, all of "those kinds of conclusions" and all the rumours about their unusual friendship were now fact. Sure, Marco was technically still dead but that was just a minor inconvenience. He could work around it. What mattered was that they were together now. Finally. But one question still lingered: what on earth did Jean say to his mother that he was terrified of reaching Marco's ears? 

He wanted to know. 

No, he had to know.

Marco wouldn't be able to rest until he did, but he knew better than to ask the man himself. Jean would never confess. He'd bite his own tongue off first. There was really only one way to find out and Marco silently resolved to drop by the Kirstein house at the very first opportunity. He hadn't been very interested in figuring out how to hide his wings before, but now? Now it was definitely near the top of his To Do list. Marco was pretty sure that Jean would've mentioned something major like the death of his best friend, so he couldn't just show up out of the blue with wings and an otherworldly presence. 

Marco would need to at least look like a normal person if he wanted to stand the slightest chance of getting Mrs. Kirstein to share some embarrassing stories about her son.

"Why are you smiling like that?" 

Jean's eyes were wide with panic, perhaps due to sensing the plans that were percolating in Marco's mind. Startled laughter bubbled out of Marco's mouth. He clapped a hand over his mouth and doubled over with the effort to contain his mirth when Jean once again seized the lapels of his jacket and began shouting in his face. Marco reached up and took Jean's hands into his own larger ones, prying them away from the wrinkled collar of his jacket. The laughter eventually gave way to a ridiculously wide and sunny smile that flooded his face with warmth. Jean reflexively answered the smile with one of his own.

"I don't need special powers to know what you're thinking," Marco said. "It's pretty easy for me to guess why you were so set on joining the Military Police."

Jean made a face. "Am I really that obvious?" 

"In my eyes? Yeah, you're completely transparent." Marco pressed a kiss to the bandaged knuckles. "But if it makes you feel better, most of the others still think you're a bit of a self-centered jerk." 

"I can't decide if I should feel insulted or not," Jean said. 

"It's a complement. I like your prickliness." Marco smiled and tugged on Jean's hands. "Now move those feet. We've wasted enough time out here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now have a sorta short chapter. This was originally written to be posted on Jean's birthday but I missed it so I took my time editing it instead. 
> 
> And in my heart, Marco accidentally brings out the spoiled child in Jean by being a little too willing to indulge him...


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Progress, or something vaguely resembling it, is made.

The silence lasted for more than an hour before it was broken and, frankly, that was much longer than Marco expected. 

At first, he had enjoyed the quiet and thought about how nice it was that his friend hadn't completely regressed into his old obnoxious self. It had taken a concentrated effort on Marco's part before Jean finally absorbed the lesson that not all silences needed to be filled and he was pleased to see that not all of his hard work was undone. He liked being able to enjoy Jean's presence without feeling the need for conversation. But then the minutes turned into hours and Jean still hadn't said a word. Worry began to set in. 

Marco turned and really looked at his friend. Jean's eyes fixed straight ahead with a blankness that implied that the majority of his attention was focused inward. Marco knew that look all too well, unfortunately. 

Of course Jean was worrying about things again. Of course he was getting caught up in the minutiae and unnecessarily stressing himself out over things that shouldn't be a problem. What else would he be doing? Certainly not trusting the judgement of someone who went to the trouble of coming back from the other side because he knew what was coming and wanted to keep his best friend safe, that's what. 

Marco sighed. 

Feeling profoundly foolish for getting so worried over nothing, Marco tried to step away only to find his hand trapped. Jean's grip tightened around his fingers and those amber brown eyes flickered up to meet Marco's questioning gaze. A sheepish grin stole over Jean's face and he gave a half-hearted little shrug that was probably supposed to be apologetic. 

Marco graciously accepted it for what it was and said, "Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," with an exasperated smile. 

Because while it would be nice to actually hear Jean apologize properly, the half-assed attempt wasn't all that bad. All things considered, Marco definitely preferred dealing with the old brash and blunt Jean from their trainee days over the alternative, which was a quiet Jean prone to sudden fits of paralyzing guilt and general gloominess. 

"I wonder that myself, too." Jean said. 

"Oh no, don't you dare start that again!" 

"Start what?" Jean asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!" Marco shook a finger at him in warning. "Honestly, you weren't this mopey before I came back to see you."

"Mopey?!" Jean sputtered indignantly. "I'm not—it's called being realistic! There's a difference!" 

Jean scowled. He tried to cross his arms but completely forgot that both of his hands weren't free at the moment, so rather than present a stern image of disapproval at being called mopey of all things, Jean only succeeded in yanking the older boy off balance. Marco yelped as he stumbled. He crashed into Jean and somehow managed to steady them both with some quick manoeuvring and a hand pressed to Jean's chest. Marco looked up and, wide-eyed, sucked in a breath, suddenly and acutely aware of the firmness of the body beneath his hand. 

Jean looked away first. 

"'m sorry," Jean mumbled as he moved away, "wasn't on purpose."

Marco's hand darted out and caught Jean's arm when the embarrassed boy tried to escape. Jean made a vague noise of surprise in his throat and turned back around. Marco kept his eyes averted. The tip of Marco's tongue darted out to moisten his lips, nervously, as his hand slid down the captured arm until their hands were once again pressed palm to palm. 

"…Marco?" 

"N- no, don't worry. It's okay." Marco stammered, words thick with that distinctive Jinae accent. "You don't need to apologize for something like this."

Jean nodded slowly. 

"Okay" he said, drawing out the vowels. "You do know that I don't have an ulterior motive this time, right? Pulling you off balance really was an accident. I just kinda forgot that I didn't let go yet? So… yeah." Jean scratched his cheek with his free hand. "Oh. And, um, by the way, me rubbing my face all over your wings earlier was also totally an accident. I wasn't being opportunistic, I swear."

Marco was smiling when he looked up. "I know." 

"Oh. That's good then." Jean, suspecting that Marco didn't actually believe a word Jean said, studied his freckled face for any sign of deception but Marco just stared back with that perfect poker-faced smile. "Good," Jean said again for emphasis.

Marco laughed softly. 

"I should probably tell you now, you know, for future reference, that you don't ever have to feel bad for wanting to do something silly like holding hands." Marco ducked his head. "Or touching my wings. I really don't mind." 

"Does this mean that you're giving me permission to touch you whenever and wherever I like?" Jean asked with barely contained enthusiasm. "Because that's what it sounds like."

Marco looked Jean in the eye and said sternly, "Within the boundaries of public decency." 

"Define public decency."

"Jean," Marco sighed. "I am not an exhibitionist. All I'm asking is that you exercise some restraint and try to avoid scarring the people around us. Please? Do it for me, if not for them." 

Jean made a face and said, "Why do you have to keep spoiling my fun?" in his whiniest voice. 

"Because I'm here to watch over you, not let you amuse yourself at my expense." 

"What if I promise that you'll enjoy it as much as me?"

"Don't make promises that you can't keep," Marco retorted.

"Well. That's okay then." Jean nodded to himself. "Got it." 

Marco's eyes widened in alarm. He ran back over his words and realized just which ones managed to slip out, unnoticed, and clapped a hand over his mouth in mortification. It was far too late for it to make any difference. All he could do was shoot a pleading look at Jean… which he took great pleasure in denying. 

Jean waggled a finger and proclaimed with unholy glee, "Too late! No take-backs!"

"But Jean—" 

"Nope." 

"Jean..." Marco's face began to turn crimson. "You know I didn't mean to say that out loud!" 

"Too bad. Look for mercy somewhere else." Jean grinned wildly. "You said it and meant it and no amount of complaining is going to make me ignore it. Consider the challenge accepted."

"Ugh. Jean, why are you so…" Marco covered his face and moaned, "Just what are you planning to do to an angel of Heaven, you pervert?" 

Jean shrugged. "Nothing that I wasn't already planning to do to my best friend, Marco Bodt, the moment we got some time to ourselves in the Military Police."

Marco peeked through his fingers. "…what?" 

"Look, I couldn't care less that you're an angel or a ghost or some other kind of inhuman creature that I've never heard of before. I'm not willing to give this up a second time. Not without a really good reason." Jean's volume grew as his pitch dropped to a furious growl. "So if you have a problem with it, you'd better say something right fucking now."

Marco squeaked and shook his head. "No, not at all!" 

"You'd better not just be saying that to be nice because that would make you a bigger asshole than me."

"I'm not," Marco insisted. "And to be honest, I'm sort of relieved to see you so upset."

"Explain," Jean said.

Marco's smile faltered. "It's—it's nothing. Don't worry about it. Really, it's not something you can do anything about." 

"I don't care." Jean squeezed his hand. "I want to know what's bothering you."

Marco's gaze dropped to the ground. His voice was small. "Do you really insist…?" 

"I do." 

"Okay," Marco's voice trailed off uncertainly. "But remember that you asked for it." 

"I will," Jean said. "Now quit stalling."

"I… I knew that you liked me, back then." Marco paused to take a steadying breath. "And I knew that dying the way I did really messed you up. It would be simple for someone to use that against you." Marco tipped his head back to stare at the sky. "It'd be beyond ridiculously easy for someone who knew you as well as I do to push your buttons." He closed his eyes. "So I've been worried. Scared. All this time, I've been wondering if I was unconsciously manipulating you into doing things you weren't ready for. Things you didn't really want." Marco spoke the next words so quietly that Jean had to strain to hear him mumble "not as badly as I do." 

Jean opened his mouth to speak but Marco hastily overrode him.

"I know you care about me. I know you missed me. I know!" Marco ran a shaky hand through his hair. "I know that already."

"Then what are you so worried about?" Jean frowned. "I'm not a complete idiot. Don't you trust me?" 

"I do trust you." Marco smiled sadly. "But I also know that you still admire Mikasa and think she's special. And… she really is something else. You can't blame me for doubting that someone as unremarkable as me could ever beat her. Not without cheating." 

"You're right," Jean said bluntly. "I do admire her."

Marco winced. "Is this your idea of cheering someone up? Because if it is, you're seriously bad at it."

"Shut it, smart ass. I'm not done yet." Jean said testily. "Yeah, I think Mikasa's cool and pretty but so does pretty much everyone else. I'm just more vocal about it. Seriously, think about it! Everyone, including me, keeps saying that Krista's awesome too but I don't hear you bitching and moaning about how I must love HER more than you." 

"That's different!" 

"Really now? Then why don't you tell me how it's different." Jean smirked when Marco sputtered indignantly before falling into a sullen silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought." 

"You play dirty," Marco groused. 

"You should be happy that I proved your fears to be completely groundless not just once, but twice." Jean said archly, "I suggest thanking me with a generous reward." 

Marco snickered. "My, what gracious champion stands before me? So humble. So selfless!" He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead and swooned theatrically. "Truly, how could I ever be so cruel as to deny you whatever you desire?"

"You must have gone mad," Jean quoted without hesitation.

"I must have," Marco said softly. "Forgive me?"

"Of course, dumbass." Jean punched him lightly and smiled in relief. "So you're okay now? Anything else you need to get off your chest?" 

Marco hesitated, thought about it, and shook his head. "Nothing else comes to mind." 

"Good. Next time, don't let things fester until you get all paranoid and twisted up like that," Jean said sternly. "You're the one who keeps nagging me to stop bottling things up so take your own damn advice for once! Seriously," Jean's smile turned pained. "Let me worry about you too. Okay?"

Marco smiled brightly enough for both of them. 

"Okay," Marco said. "It's a promise." 

And from the bounce in his step, to the nameless tune he started humming, to the way he wouldn't stop swinging their joined hands, the happiness suddenly radiating from Marco was blinding in its intensity. It was almost embarrassing. Wasn't he upset enough to be on the verge of tears only a few minutes ago? And weren't they in a heated argument not long before that? Jean rubbed his neck and gave up on trying to figure things out. Marco was finally in a good mood again and, really, that was all he needed to know.

The conversation fell into another lull but unlike before, this one was comfortable and familiar. 

Jean found himself thinking about the past. The situation reminded him of those times when everyone was blindfolded and transported deep into the woods near the training camp before being left to find their own way back. Survival training, the instructors called it, but the trainees all knew that it was mostly an excuse to get the kids out of the way for a while. A few of the trainees were like Sasha and could quite easily, alone, find their way back to camp with hardly any trouble. Some of them simply hunkered down where they were left and waited for rescue. 

And then there were those who were completely hopeless and ended up wandering around aimlessly until several days passed and worried instructors came looking for them. 

Jean was one of the hopeless ones. He was a city boy, through and through, and knew next to nothing about stuff like living off the land. He only knew enough to get himself into trouble by overestimating his abilities. There were a few other city kids like him but they were usually able to team up with others who were more knowledgeable about the whole wilderness thing. Jean usually ended up alone until a worried Marco managed to track him down. 

Their current predicament was surprisingly similar. 

Here was Jean, injured and lost and stuck in a mess that was mostly of his own making. And there was Marco, a little angry but mostly relieved that nothing really bad happened before he arrived to take control of the situation, leading the way back to safety. He was even holding onto Jean's hand like he was still a directionless child prone to wandering off. Jean didn't have to test it to know that he wouldn't be able to get very far before that doting mother hen would come looking for him. Marco would come swooping down and start clucking away about stuff like how badly Jean scared him by disappearing like that and generally laying on the guilt as thick as he could.

But now, Jean couldn't bring himself to tease Marco for being overly concerned. 

There was no safety net this time. Nobody would come looking for them when they failed to show up. Nobody would really care because as far as the Scouting Legion was concerned, anyone who went missing outside the walls was as good as dead and it was a complete waste of resources to mount a rescue operation. He probably would be dead if Marco didn't decide to pull a fast one on Heaven and come to his aid. 

Jean studied Marco's profile out of the corner of his eyes. He hoped that getting Jean back to the safety of the walls wasn't the only reason Marco was allowed back. If it was, well, Jean was fully prepared to spend the rest of his life camping right outside the walls. He'd prevent Marco's departure by exploiting a technicality. He had a feeling that Marco would happily turn a blind eye to the deception too. If that truly was the case, Marco would conveniently decide that even if he had already fulfilled the spirit of the mission, he had yet to fulfill the letter of it so he really had no choice but to keep hanging around. 

However, a little confirmation couldn't hurt.

"Hey, Marco? Can I ask you something?"

Marco broke off in the middle of humming a vaguely familiar tune. His chocolate brown eyes were warmed by an open and guileless affection that made Jean's chest feel tight. Marco's smile turned several shades fonder at the whatever it was he saw in Jean's face. 

"Of course you can," Marco said. 

Jean cleared his throat. "Why are you here? Is it just for me," He felt ridiculously vain saying it out loud, even if it was the truth, but pressed on. "Or is there a some other purpose for your visit? I can't imagine that what's going on is standard operating procedure."

"I'd say it's a little of column A and a little of column B?" Marco said with a contemplative hum. 

"What do you mean?" Jean asked.

Marco pointed at the sky with his free hand. 

"In the end, they did make it my job to look after you. Officially, I mean. Sort of. I was going to find a way back here anyway, whether they liked it or not, but it's nice to have the seal of approval." Marco smiled and gave a little shrug. "I guess they're turning a blind eye to what I did because it's convenient. In me, they have an angel with combat training who is conveniently not officially supposed to be anywhere near the living world."

Jean tilted his head and stared at his friend with piercing amber brown eyes. The relaxed smile on Marco's face froze. The raised hand dropped to his side, slowly, as the cheer drained away like water in a sink. Jean wasn't angry yet, not truly, but he was getting there. His blood ran cold. Marco wondered how he managed to forget about Jean's uncanny ability to sniff out deception like a bloodhound. That was one of the things that attracted him to Jean in the first place! 

And as if proving that the familiarity ran both ways, the grip on Marco's fingers tightened almost to the point of pain. Jean guessed correctly that the freckled boy's initial impulse would be to flee and acted to prevent it. 

"What did you mean by that?" The lightness of Jean's voice was at sharp odds with the chill in his eyes.

"Um, what part are you wondering about?" Marco asked.

"Why don't we start with why you're really here?" 

"Because I love you?" Marco shook his head as if to chastise himself for sounding so hesitant. "I missed you so much, Jean. I stopped worrying that your 'like' was probably not the same kind of 'like' as mine. I didn't care that I could get in so much trouble for what I did. I… I needed to see you again. Had to speak to you again." Marco looked Jean square in the eyes and repeated, "because I love you," in a firm voice that brooked no further argument. 

"Uuurrgh… You sap, quit it with all the mushy stuff! I know that part already!"

Jean flapped a hand in a shooing motion, blushing hotly and looking quite pleased despite the thunderous scowl on his face, and Marco suddenly knew it was going to be okay. They were going to be okay. He didn't realize just how anxious he became until the knot of tension released in a sudden rush. Marco fought to keep a relieved smile from rising to the surface. He knew that the sight of it would only ignite the banked flames of Jean's temper so he settled instead for brushing his lips against Jean's. 

The reaction was immediate and so wonderfully Jean that he couldn't resist doing it again. 

Jean shoved Marco's shoulder and shouted "I thought I told you to stop tempting me!" 

"That wasn't trying to tempt you." Marco huffed, offended. "I was trying to apologize! You know damn well what it's like when I'm actually trying to get in your pants, so stop overreacting. I wasn't acting anything like that just now." 

"You make a terrible angel." Jean pointed an accusatory finger. "And worst of all, you don't even realize what you're doing half the time." 

"What? I'm not doing anything out of the ordinary." Marco frowned mightily. "You're the one with your mind in the gutter."

"Oh that's rich," Jean scoffed. "This coming from the guy who said the best way for you to prove your identity beyond the shadow of a doubt… was if I put on a show and masturbated for your amusement."

Marco flushed crimson. "I was drunk!" He said defensively.

"Your sober self thought it was a great idea too," Jean pointed out.

Marco narrowed his eyes. "Hey now, I seem to remember that you were sober that day so there's no reason why you should've agreed to such a stupid plan. Especially since you're so clearly against the idea."

"I never said I didn't want to!" Jean blurted out. He grimaced and cursed his runaway mouth and wished that it'd stop saying things without checking in with his brain first. "Now stop trying to change the subject. I'm trying to interrogate you." 

"I already told you everything you need to know." 

"Oh, so now you're going to pull the 'need to know' crap on me, huh? I thought we were friends!" Jean let go of Marco's hand so he could properly cross his arms over his chest. 

"We are! But I can’t tell you everything just because we're friends," Marco said. 

"…what about your boyfriend?" 

Marco stared in opened mouthed shock and more than a little confusion. "What?" He squeaked as a bashful smile crept onto Jean's face. It looked good on him. Distractingly good. 

"Your boyfriend," Jean said. "Could you tell him stuff that you can't tell a friend?"

"M- maybe? I guess?" Marco stammered and scrubbed a hand over his face. "But more importantly, Jean, you can't call yourself my boyfriend until we've actually gone on a date." 

"Aren't we on one right now?" 

The grin on Jean's face promised that the next words out of his mouth were going to be ridiculous and possibly trouble. Marco dropped his hand and arched an eyebrow. He was curious to hear what Jean was going to say despite the warnings of the voice of reason and experience. It said that Marco would be better off not knowing. 

"No, I don't think so." Marco said, "How is this a date?"

"Think about it," Jean said enthusiastically. "We met up somewhere different, did an activity that brought us closer together, kissed and went no further, and now you're escorting me home like the gentleman you are. That sounds like a first date to me."

Marco laughed helplessly. "Well, that's certainly one way to interpret today!" 

"And totally, completely valid," Jean said.

"You're going to completely ignore the part where I'm not human anymore, aren't you?" Marco shook his head, smiling widely enough to make his cheeks hurt. "Okay, fine. You win… BUT!" He held up a finger. "I'm still can't tell you everything. Don't pout, I'm not done yet. The best I can do is be more careless about the things I say and the way I act. If you manage to piece everything together correctly and tell me, I'm officially supposed to threaten you with death. Or worse."

"That's how I'm going to know I got it right, huh?" Jean said. "Alright."

"You're taking the whole 'I might have to kill you' thing surprisingly well," Marco commented. "Are you concussed?"

"Dying suddenly and in unexpected ways is how just about everyone leaves the Scouting Legion." Jean shrugged. "Being killed by my best friend turned mysterious angelic soldier of heaven falls neatly under Sudden and Unexpected Ways to Die. And besides, it's not like you'd actually obey an order to kill me. Right?" 

"Of course not!"

"See? I've got nothing to worry about." Jean grinned. "Now tell me, boyfriend, are you going to be able to get me home before curfew?"

"You and your mood swings..." Marco shook his head. "I want you to stay right there and don't move. I'll go check how farther we have left to go." 

"I'll be here," Jean said. 

Marco stepped back. His gaze turned skyward and those enormous speckled brown and black wings unfurled with an understated kind of flourish that had to be deliberate, the show-off. Marco leapt and climbed quickly into the vast expanse of blue sky until his form was indistinguishable from the other birds circling above. Jean lay down in the grass and closed his eyes, settling in to wait however long it took.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They keep getting side-tracked! At this rate, I wonder how long it'll take them to reach the walls...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations and a badly-timed rescue.

Marco couldn't help smiling when he caught sight of Jean stretched on the grass, his jacket wadded beneath his head as a make-shift pillow and an arm flung over his eyes to block out the sunlight. His breaths were deep and even. It would seem that leaving Jean in a safe location with no distractions was, in fact, all he needed to do to get his stubborn friend to rest. Marco knew that delaying their departure would mean running the unnecessary risk of spending a night out in the open, but he looked so relaxed and at peace that Marco found himself reluctant to do more than reach out to brush his fingers through Jean's hair.

But to his surprise and slight dismay, Jean reacted to his presence immediately. He turned his head minutely to seek out the fingers that slowly slid from his hair to trace the curve of his ear. Warm breath puffed against the palm of Marco's hand and Jean gave a sleepy grumble as he shifted his arm just enough for the sliver of one amber-brown eye to peek out. 

"Hey there, slowpoke." Jean's lips curved into a drowsy smile.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," Marco said softly. 

"I wasn't asleep. Not really." Jean pushed himself upright slowly and, at the look of disbelief on Marco's face, continued with "and even if I was, I can tell when you're around." He yawned and stretched. "Remember? The reason everyone thinks I've gone completely crazy?" 

"I haven't apologized for that yet, have I?" Marco said sheepishly, "I didn't realize you could hear me and that we were actually having conversations until… until after everyone made up their minds about, um, your sanity. I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize. I'm not accusing you of anything." Jean waved a hand dismissively. "And besides, it all worked out in the end."

"I don't think you can claim that until after we get back to the others," Marco pointed out. "A lot of things can still go wrong. Like, we don't even know if anyone else will be able to see or hear me! You might end up looking even more insane than before."

"Details," Jean scoffed. "But, you know, I'm wondering… would you've kept your distance if you figured out that I could do stuff like hear you, earlier? Before everyone came to the conclusion that I completely lost my marbles, I mean. You can tell me. I swear I won't get mad." 

Marco laughed. "No." 

"Is that 'no, you won't tell me' or 'no, you wouldn't stay away'? Because those are two very different things."

"You're such a worrier." Marco smiled and shook his head. "It should be obvious which one it is. I shouldn't need to tell you." 

"Spell it out for me anyway?" Jean said with a smile.

Marco sighed. "Okay. Fine. In short, I'm not as selfless as most people would assume." 

"I still don't get it." 

"I'm selfish enough to want you all to myself," Marco said bluntly, "even though I don't exactly have the right to make claims of any sort now that I'm dead. What I'm doing is wrong, I know, but I don't care… especially not now that I'm sure you want me too."

Jean frowned. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"O- of course you do!" Marco's eyes widened and he anxiously waved his hands as he backed away. "I'm just telling you how I feel. I don't want you to feel pressured or anything just because I'm not willing to move on. If I'm being a bother and you want me to leave, just say it and I'll go. I'll leave, no questions asked and no grudges held. Honest." 

"Calm down. That's not what I meant." Jean rolled his eyes. "If you want to hang a sign saying 'Keep Off. Property of Marco Bodt' around my neck that's okay with me. Not that you need to, really, since almost everyone already knows that I'm yours." 

Marco stared for long enough that Jean's face began to heat up. 

"Don't tell me you already forgot," Jean said gruffly. "I dedicated my life in the Legion of Suicidal Idiots to you. Remember? At the pyre? So, in a way, you kinda already owned me before we started dating, er, today." Jean scrambled to his feet and walked away quickly. "Shut up. Drop it already." 

"I didn't say anything," Marco said. 

"You were gonna," Jean snapped defensively. 

"Hmm…?" 

Smiling brightly for reasons Jean didn't want to think about, Marco kept trying to catch his friend's eye but Jean was having none of that. He embarrassed himself enough already. Words that Jean didn't want to say aloud kept spilling out of his traitorous mouth and he really didn't want to give Marco the opportunity to tease out any more humiliating revelations. 

"Hey, Jean?" 

"I don't want to hear it!" 

"You're going the wrong way," Marco laughed.

"What?" Jean turned around with a slight frown on his face. "No, I'm sure this is the way."

"There's no reason for us to follow the patrol route," Marco pointed out. "It's shorter if we go this way." He raised a hand and pointed a couple degrees to the right. "And if you're worried about getting lost out here, don't. I can always go up there and check our position." 

"Oh. That's right," Jean said, "I keep forgetting you have wings now." 

"I don't know how you could, with the way you keep staring at them when you think I'm not paying attention." 

"What's wrong with admiring my boyfriend?!" Jean retorted, "And how do you know I'm not actually staring at your ass, huh? Tell me that!" 

"Because I can hear your thoughts now and it's not my butt you keep thinking about grabbing." Marco said sternly, with a luminous blush on his face. "You are now, though, and stop it. I'm flattered but I didn't need to know that."

"Oh. I thought you liked that stuff and it'd turn you on…" Jean looked confused and a little hurt.

"I do. And it is, which is why I want to you quit it. For now." Marco breathed out shakily and reached out to rest a hand on Jean's arm. "Priorities, Jean. We have to get back first. I REALLY don't want to go back and report that I failed because we were too focused on flirting and, um, other stuff…" 

Jean perked up a bit. "You're not mad?"

"Not at you," Marco assured him. "Believe me, I'm even less happy about this arrangement than you are but I don't have much of a choice here. I have to do what they want." 

"What do you mean, 'you have to'?" Jean frowned. 

"I can't tell you," Marco said regretfully. 

Jean's expression cleared slightly. "Ohh… this is one of those 'I have to kill you if you figure it out' things you mentioned, right?" 

Marco nodded. A wry smile twisted his lips. "I still don't understand how you can be taking this so well. If I were in your place, I'd be a lot more concerned about, well, a lot of things!"

"There are only few things that I'm still wondering about, now." Jean said airily. "The rest I really couldn't care less about."

Curious, Marco asked "What are they? I'll answer if I can." 

Jean silently turned to Marco. He studied the earnest expression, the curiosity and concern that was painfully obvious from the wideness of those chocolate brown eyes and the restlessness of those lightly scarred hands, and decided that it would be mean to stay silent. Marco kept reaching out –fingertips ghosting over Jean's wrists, seeking out his pulse– and absentmindedly tracing nonsense patterns into the exposed skin before guiltily jerking his hands away and folding them behind his back. 

"How long can we be together?" Jean asked. Marco managed to avoid giving a straight answer earlier, but Jean wasn't going to let it go so easily. This was important.

Marco's face immediately fell into a goofy love-struck expression and he sighed, "As long as you want."

Jean choked. "Ma—you shameless pervert! I meant here, in the mortal world, while I'm still alive!" 

"Oh. That's... that's what I meant too." Marco's eyes darted away. 

"Uh huh." 

"It is!" Marco said defensively. "I'm in the books officially as your personal guardian angel. We're not supposed to come down here except for extreme emergencies, but I successfully argued that you're a walking disaster whose bad luck will rub off on the important Scouting Legion people you're connected to, so I was granted special permission to hang around here as long as you're willing to let me." 

"A walking disaster, am I? Wow, Marco, I didn't know you thought so highly of me." Jean said dryly. 

"You nearly died on a routine training mission that was only supposed to last a couple hours at most," Marco pointed out. "I think my concerns are perfectly justified."

"Now why don't you explain the part where you're only here as long as I'm willing to let you?" 

"Oh, that?" Marco scratched his nose and shrugged. "I don't really get it either. I wasn't paying attention to that part." 

"You weren't paying attention?" Jean stared. "That's kind of important!"

"Not really? I mean, I wouldn't want to stick around and be a bother if you didn't want me here, so I didn't think to question it." Marco smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry? If you really want to know, I could go back and ask—"

"NO!" Jean shouted and grabbed Marco's arm.

Marco looked taken aback. "O- okay, I won't go." He awkwardly patted Jean's hand. "Um, could you loosen your grip a little? You're cutting off circulation. Thanks."

When Jean released Marco's arm from the vice-like grip, Marco immediately slipped the freed arm around Jean's waist and pulled his sulking friend close. Jean didn't even make a token protest. He settled against Marco's side and turned to rest his head on Marco's shoulder. 

After a few minutes of silence, Jean piped up with "Next question: why are you taller than me now?"

"…But I've always been taller than you?" Marco said, confused. 

"Our height difference wasn't anything like this the last time I checked," Jean protested. "I know for a fact that I've grown taller since the battle in Trost. We should be the same, or I should be taller than you, but I'm not. What gives?" 

"I don't know."

"Is that 'I don't know' or 'I won't say'?" 

"I don't know," Marco repeated firmly. "I'm really sorry, Jean, but I really don't know much more about how this whole angel thing works than you do. I honestly did not pay the slightest bit attention to what they were trying to teach me." 

"What kind of honours student are you?" Jean teased.

"The kind that wanted to stop his friend from doing something stupid and irreversible."

"Oh I don't know about irreversible," Jean drawled. "You're here now, aren't ya?"

Marco rolled his eyes. "If it's any consolation, nobody seemed terribly concerned that I was running back here without going through any sort of guardian angel training. I guess that means that a lot of the important skills will come naturally to this new body of mine, or they assumed I'll be able to figure it out on my own." 

"I guess we have a lot of work ahead of us to learn how your new body works," Jean leered. 

Marco swatted at him lightly. "Not now, Jean!" 

"Yeah, yeah… I know. Wait until after I get checked out by a real doctor and all that crap." Jean wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Let's pick up the pace then. Agreed?"

"Yeah." Marco smiled. 

With the new task fixed firmly in mind, conversation completely fell away as they picked their way over the uneven ground toward the buildings squatting on the horizon. Jean's full attention shifted to keeping pace with Marco without doing any further damage to his injured body. Marco actually did have very good medical skills but the fact remained that he was not a fully trained doctor and neither of them would be able to rest easily until Jean got a professional opinion. But even without seeing a doctor, Jean wasn't feeling very optimistic about the chances of them getting some quality alone time for at least a few weeks – it would be easy to work around an injured wrist or a busted shoulder, but it hurt too badly when he inhaled for his ribs to be anything but cracked or broken.

The only good thing about the current state of Jean's body was that it didn't seem like he had a concussion and his legs were both okay compared to the rest of him. Walking wasn't going to be an issue. Keeping a good, steady pace? That was going to be harder. 

Thankfully, Marco confirmed what Jean suspected all along – that he really was a mind-reader now. The full extent of Marco's abilities had yet to be known, along with any possible limits (self-imposed and not), but the admission meant that Jean no longer had to waste his breath trying to get Marco's attention. If the pace was starting to get difficult, all Jean had to do was think loud complaints in Marco's direction and he'd slow down immediately. 

It was great. 

The revelation that his innermost thoughts were open to someone else's scrutiny should have been unsettling or frightening, and it would have been if it was anyone else, but Jean only saw it as convenient. There was also the fact that Marco was already a master at reading Jean's tells before he died. He could correctly guess what Jean was thinking most of the time so, for Marco, the mind-reading would only serve to eliminate that slim margin of error. As for Jean, it was a potential source of endless entertainment… all at Marco's expense. 

Really, Jean was getting the better end of the deal so the loss of some privacy didn't bother him. 

He was still curious about the glimmers of Marco's other powers, like the weird thing that happened to Marco's eyes, but he wasn't terribly concerned about it anymore. The more Jean thought about how his initial reaction was to run, the more he came to realize that Marco wasn't human anymore and that it was perfectly normal to be on guard around otherworldly beings. Cautious, but not afraid. Marco was still Marco… albeit one that was quite a bit hornier than Jean ever would have guessed.

"I am not!" Marco protested immediately. 

Jean laughed. "Ha! Bullshit." 

"I'm not," Marco crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

"Oh, Hey… hey! Look, Marco, all I'm saying is that you're a great actor. It's a compliment." Jean rubbed his shoulder and rambled on, trying to reassure him. "You didn't want anyone to figure out that you liked me like that, and it worked. Hell, you even had ME convinced for a while and this was after I kept catching you—" 

"Okay, stop. You can stop now," Marco said in a strangled voice. "You made your point."

"I did?" 

Marco nodded and flashed Jean an embarrassed smile. By trying to make things better, Jean nearly managed to say something several times worse. Thank goodness he stopped when asked. Still, Marco found himself wondering, again, whether or not it was good thing that he found Jean's awkwardness so endearing. It was a minor blessing that no one else was around to hear their conversation. But what was he was going to do once they reached the walls and were back amongst the others? The old Jean, blurter of things that nobody else needed to know, had returned and Marco had no doubt that Jean was going to humiliate both of them in record time. 

"Jean? Would it be okay to ask you to not mention me right away?" 

"Sure, but why?"

"Um…" Marco looked up at the sky. "You know. Reasons." 

"Ah, good point. No need to put more people on the kill list than necessary." Jean nodded. "I'm going to guess that being seen by the person you're guarding is a no-no but forgivable under certain circumstances, while being spotted by anyone else is seriously bad. And to make things worse, I bet you've got secret orders in addition to being stationed here as my guardian angel, so… Oh. Well, looks like I got something right. What part?"

"I'm sorry. I really don't want to hurt you." 

"It's fine. Go ahead," Jean said, "You're just doing your job."

With a miserable expression, Marco reached out and squeezed the injured shoulder hard enough to make Jean wince and cry out with tears in his eyes. It didn't take much pressure to accomplish this. Shockingly little, in fact. Marco suspected that Jean was over-exaggerating in case watchful Heavenly eyes were fixed on them at that moment, but it still looked like he was in a lot of pain and Marco felt terrible for being the cause of it. He had to make amends. So as soon as the threat was carried out, Marco pulled him close and tugged the collar of his jacket down to expose Jean's shoulder. He pressed a light kiss to injured flesh. He tasted the sweat and trace amounts of blood clinging to Jean's skin and slowly dragged his lips down, down, following the bruises as far as Jean's shirt would allow. Not enough. Marco's hands rubbed up the smooth planes of Jean's stomach before grasping handfuls of soft fabric and tugging impatiently at the buttons.

Jean gasped "Marco" and dug the fingers of his free hand into the dark strands of hair.

"I'm so sorry," Marco whispered against his skin. 

"It's fine," he said breathlessly. "But… I think you should stop? Maybe. This- this really doesn't feel like punishment anymore. But if it is, then, yeah, don't let me stop you." 

"Hmm… Oh. Oh! I'm sorry!" Marco jumped back and hastily wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked away. His face was crimson. 

Jean poked curiously at the new bruise on his collarbone with a bemused smile. "Are all the punishments going to be like this?"

"I am so, so sorry!" 

"Because if they are, I think I'm really looking forward to how you're going to 'kill' me now." Jean grinned as he buttoned his shirt back up. 

Marco covered his face with his hands. "I am so sorry, Jean. I really am. I got a little carried away." 

"I'll say." Jean laughed. "What happened? I'm going to go ahead and assume that feeling me up with your mouth isn't a preferred method of discipline up there." 

"My mind wandered off," Marco admitted sheepishly. "And the next thing I know, I'm—sorry. Again." 

"Stop apologizing. I'm not complaining." 

"Not even for stopping there?" Marco said with a shy smile. 

"No, not even for that." Jean playfully punched him in the arm. "I was more worried that you'd get in serious trouble if I let you keep going."

"Thank you. I would have," Marco said gratefully. 

"All the time?" Jean asked. "Do you have rules against… how did it go? Fraternizing with your charges? No, conflict of interest? Something like that." 

Marco's eyes were unfocused and his voice distant when he answered "No, not exactly. I think… I think there is a loophole that'll let us get away with it." Marco blinked several times and rubbed an eye. "I'm officially here as your guardian and that means going along with your whims, as long as they are harmless and reasonable requests."

"Okay," Jean said thoughtfully, "I'll have to figure out how to work this to our advantage. Any other hints?" 

"I can't. Sorry," Marco said. 

"Ah, whatever. Don't worry, I'll think of something." Jean waved a hand. 

"I wish I could be of more help," Marco said unhappily, "but my hands are tied."

"You're here, you saved my life, and you're letting me see you and touch you. Trust me, that's already a lot." 

"Is it?" Marco asked in a small voice. 

"Marco," Jean said sternly. "Look. All I really wanted back there was to ask for your forgiveness and maybe confess. I messed up a lot and wanted you to know how sorry I was. I got that. I would've been content with just that. Really, I never thought I'd also manage to snag a boyfriend who's willing to break some seriously scary rules…"

"Jean!" Marco yelped. "I haven't broken any rules yet. I've just been obeying the letter of them, not the spirit."

"You'll get in trouble all the same if someone catches you." 

"Well, yes… but there's only so much they can do to someone who technically hasn't done anything wrong." Marco said with a slight smile. "I learnt that from you." 

"Looks like my bad habits have rubbed off on you," Jean said softly.

"I don't mind," Marco murmured as he moved closer. "You can keep corrupting me, if you like."

"Oh? Is that so?" Jean reached out and slung his arms around Marco's shoulders. "Well, I think I know where I want to start— fuck. I think I hear something." 

Marco pulled back immediately. Jean groaned and dropped his head to the broad shoulder before him and let loose a string of frustrated curses that only stopped when Marco's hand came up to rest in Jean's short hair. Marco pressed a lingering kiss to the side of his friend's head and turned to track the source of the disturbance with narrowed eyes. 

"What do you see?" Jean eventually asked. 

"There are people wearing the same uniform as you," Marco answered with audible reluctance. "Over there. I don't recognize any of them."

"I guess we can check it out," Jean said with equal reluctance. "I wonder what they're doing out here, though. This isn't a patrol or training route." 

"Perhaps they're out here looking for you?" Marco suggested. 

"Unlikely. It'd be a waste of resources," Jean said. "Still, they might be."

"We shouldn't reveal our hand yet," Marco said as he stepped away. "I'll wait up there—" he pointed at a building a short distance away "—and follow at a distance if they're really Scouting Legion. If they're trouble…" 

"…You'll swoop in and save me? My hero." Jean laughed. "Okay, sounds good to me. We still don't know if anyone but me can see you so it's best to play it safe. I'd rather have you here with me, though."

"You'll be fine." 

Marco pressed a quick kiss to Jean's lips and darted away. He took the air silently but those wings were far from inconspicuous. Jean watched until he was absolutely certain that Marco was out of sight before turning away to get the attention of the people that Marco spotted. He could already hear the sound of their horses and jangling gear and didn't have to wait long before the riders came into view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, silly fluff and bickering. So fun and easy to write. But now it's back to plotty things...
> 
> And note to self: stop proofreading when you're dead tired. Every mistake you fix ends up adding two more in its place. Every time you guys see repeated or missing words? Yeah. That's why.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A return to civilization

"Hold up, guys. I see someone."

Jean looked up from where he was seated on a low wall near a collapsed house. He was leaning forward with his arms braced on his thighs in way that would immediately draw their eyes toward his various injuries. It was a calculated move to look as harmless as possible, just in case. Marco was hidden nearby and could provide backup, but he was too far away to intervene in time if the approaching riders suddenly turned hostile. Jean didn’t survive this long by blindly placing his faith in others. Not anymore. He wasn't going to risk dying a fool's death at the hands of his fellow man no matter how many displeased noises Marco made. 

The lead rider held up a hand, silently directing the others in his unit to spread out as Jean watched warily. 

"Identify yourself!" One of the riders barked. 

Curiously, the lead rider wasn't the one demanding answers. The man riding next to him in the formation was the one doing all of the talking. 

Jean straightened up slowly, gingerly, embellishing the very real exhaustion and light-headedness that he was feeling. Pretending to be gravely injured wasn't the approach Jean wanted to take, but he had few other options in this case. The glare that settled on the back of Jean's head the exact moment when he started thinking about removing the bandages pre-emptively vetoed all other strategies. The message was simple: Marco would not accept any plan that required compromising his first aid treatment and Jean should know better than to argue about this. 

"Huh?" Jean asked in a dazed voice. 

"I said: identify yourself!" The rider demanded impatiently. "What unit are you part of?"

Jean, momentarily forgetting his plan in a sudden flash of temper, snapped "Who wants to know?" before he could stop himself.

The rider jabbed a finger at his own chest and snarled "What are you, blind?"

The blue and white wings were clearly visible on their chests but only an idiot would think that meant they were actually Scouting Legion. Out of all the three branches of military, the Scouting Legion cared the least about keeping things branded with their crest out of the hands of civilians and that, combined with the high mortality rate, meant there were more than enough official uniforms available to fully equip a squad of imposters. 

Jean nearly responded by telling the rider exactly what he thought about their claims, but the exasperation radiating from a certain building's roof a short distance away effectively killed the caustic words before they could escape. It would seem that proximity really did increase the power of Marco's aura of disapproval. Jean scowled and reluctantly changed tactics. 

"No, I'm injured," Jean said in tone that was only slightly rude. "If you're really Scouting Legion, then you'd know what unit I'm in just by looking. I shouldn't need to say anything." 

"You f—!" 

"Stop." 

The lead rider’s deep voice cut through the angry chatter with an authority that nobody in his unit dared to question. He guided his horse forward so they would act as physical barrier between his second in command and Jean and stared at the unruly subordinate until he made an annoyed noise and looked away. Apparently satisfied by this, the guy in charge of the unit turned to Jean and said "You're part of the missing training unit."

Jean hesitated, weighing his options, before he nodded and said "I am. Are you a patrol or a rescue party?" 

The man was under no obligation to answer the questions of a new recruit but he appeared to be far more generous and less combative than the others. "Both," the man in charge of the unit said. "We're the evening patrol. We were told to keep an eye out for any stragglers that might've survived the ambush."

Jean answered the unspoken question without prompting. 

"Everyone that ran from the Aberrant by heading away from the walls didn't make it," he said, "except for me and one other guy." 

Jean tried to avoid thinking about how that one guy managed to screw up such a basic maneuver, and how it was more than possible that the mistake wasn't actually a mistake, and how the guy decided to save himself by cutting the new kid loose. It was a perfectly human decision to make. Jean knew this. He also knew that he couldn't let himself feel angry or hurt by the man's self-serving decision because Marco's fury had not actually gone away. Instead, it smouldered like embers lying buried in the ground after a forest fire. 

Marco didn't think that man deserved any mercy; he only stopped because Jean asked him to.

Jean cleared his throat to distract himself from what felt like a sheepish but completely unapologetic shrug coming from Marco's position and said, "I lost sight of the other guy when some Titans swarmed me." That was close enough to the truth. "I guess he's back at HQ by now unless he got ambushed along the way. I didn't see what happened to the others."

The man nodded, accepting the explanation without further comment.

"About half of your unit returned the HQ far ahead of schedule and reported what had happened. A few stragglers showed up around noon, when they finally formed a rescue party to send to the training unit's last position. They didn't find anything but human remains." The man stared at Jean with open curiosity. "And now we find you, whole and healthy." 

"Whole, sure, but healthy?" Jean scoffed and waved his bandaged hand at the soldier, knowing that they would assume that the injury was Titan-related when in reality, it was self-inflicted stupidity. "I'd give you the whole list of my injuries but I'm sure you don't actually care."

"How did you manage to make it all the way back here, alone?" 

"I walked," Jean said curtly. "Now are you going done interrogating me, or what? Because I'm sure you have a patrol to get back to and I need to keep moving if I want to get back before they throw all my stuff in the trash." 

"What's your name?" 

There wasn't a good reason to conceal his name at this point, so he said "Jean Kirstein." 

"Must be one of the new kids," the man mumbled. He turned to point his finger at a rail-thin man riding a brown monster of a horse, and two other soldiers that Jean couldn't see from his position. "You three. Escort Kirstein here back to HQ and see that he gets to the infirmary. I don't want any of the captains to get their hooks in him before the doctors can do their job." 

"Um, I made it this far without passing out," Jean protested. "I'm sure I can survive until after I give my report." 

"Is the information you have so critical and time-sensitive that you have to put off medical treatment?" The man asked bluntly.

Jean didn't really want to lie but what else could he say? 'My dead best friend saved my life by becoming a guardian angel with really shady top secret orders and he claims he did it because I need constant supervision, but we both know the real reason is because I said I was going to confess the next time I saw him and he wanted to gamble that I was telling the truth, and I was, so now we're dating'…? With the truth laid out like that, Jean couldn't believe it either. 

"I guess not," he grumbled, as if the admission of his information's uselessness was something difficult to accept. 

"You have nothing to worry about now, Kirstein," The man in charge of the unit said cheerfully. "The worst of it's over. My men will see that you get back safely. We can't really afford to lose any new recruits, after all, since your kind's pretty rare these days." 

"Thanks, I guess." Jean mumbled. 

The man waved off Jean's gratitude and turned toward the rest of his men and began barking out orders. With the exception of the three soldiers that were singled out earlier, the unit was to continue on their scheduled patrol while keeping an even closer watch for any additional survivors from the training unit that might be lost. The others would have to catch up on their own. The rest of the group rode off without a backwards glance. The skinny man on the gigantic horse rode over and offered Jean a helping hand up while the other two soldiers stayed where they were, with sour expressions on their faces.

Jean eyed the horse suspiciously and said, "I'm not so sure this is a good idea." 

"She's more than capable of holding both our weights," the skinny man said. "She probably won't even notice you're here." 

"I don't know…" There was something very hostile about the way that big brown horse was staring at him that made Jean unwilling to get within biting distance. 

"Hurry up, you fucking coward." One of the other soldiers barked impatiently. It was the same one that tried to pick a fight earlier. "We need to catch up with the others after we drop you off so we don't have time to babysit you." 

Jean felt another flash of temper but, unlike before, this one was so sudden and so utterly consuming that it momentarily stole his words away. The anger didn't seem like it belonged to him alone but before Jean could figure anything out, the anger was snuffed out just as quickly as it appeared. Reason reasserted itself. The day's craziness had taken a heavy toll on his battered body and it was unlikely that he would be able to walk the rest of the way to the walls, even with Marco's help. Jean realized that he needed the help of these strangers. He needed to stay on his best behaviour because the leader of their unit was no longer around to play mediator if a fight broke out he was badly outnumbered. 

Reluctantly, Jean swallowed his pride. He forced himself to ignore the words that he wanted to fling back in the rude soldier's face and reached up to take the skinny soldier's hand despite the lingering reservations. 

He had barely settled on the gigantic horse's back before they were all off thundering across the abandoned land without warning. Jean clung desperately to the saddle with a white-knuckled grip. He focused on the pain in his jostled ribs to avoid thinking about the other soldiers' loud and mocking laughter and how easy it would be for horses of this size to crack Jean's skull open like a melon. 

The trip didn't take long at the pace set by the three patrol soldiers and they reached the gates of the Scouting Legion's headquarters before Jean managed to work up enough courage to open his eyes. The two accompanying riders, most likely assigned as an escort in case they were ambushed by one of the stray Titans roaming about, immediately headed off to the stables once they passed through the gate. The skinny man didn't stick around for very long either, but at least he had good enough manners to drop Jean off at the entrance to the medical building first. He waited until Jean's feet were on the ground before he spun his horse around and disappeared in the direction of the stables. 

Jean sat down heavily on the steps and watched the other soldiers go about their duties. He then wondered where Marco was hiding and then, just as quickly, he wondered if it would be necessary to extract another promise of "I'll leave those guys alone" from the freckled mother hen. 

Or would "mama bear" be more accurate? 

Marco was always a man of strong principles. He liked watching out for others and he would do the right thing with little regard for how his actions could damage his position and future chances. It was a relief to see that he hadn't changed all that much despite the whole "not alive" thing. The only real difference between the Marco of today and the Marco back then, was how his friend was a lot more direct in expressing his displeasure. 

Jean wasn't sure if this change was due to the changed status of their relationship –that "boyfriend" Marco really wasn't the same person as "best friend" Marco– and how much of this uncharacteristic temperamental moodiness was caused by an external source. It wouldn't be an issue if it turned out that Marco had been concealing aspects of his personality that he was too embarrassed to acknowledge. That wouldn't be a problem at all. The opposite would be true, really, because Jean was growing absurdly attached to the idea that not only was his big-hearted and baby-faced friend secretly territorial, but Marco willing to pick fights with strangers to defend what he considered 'his'. 

But what if Marco's temper wasn't natural? What if it was caused by something that was done when his body was reconstructed on the other side? In that case, well, there was nothing either of them could do about it now. 

No point in worrying, Jean said to himself, because even an altered Marco would still be Marco. They had each other's backs. No amount of creepy personality-tinkering or secret orders would ever change that. 

"You really know how to charm a guy," Marco suddenly murmured in his ear.

Jean spun to face the freckled menace lurking in the shadows between the infirmary and the neighbouring building. Marco smiled and wiggled his fingers in greeting. The bright smile didn't dim in the slightest, not even when Jean scowled furiously as he willed his heart to stop trying to escape. 

"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," Marco said apologetically. 

"Keep it down," Jean hissed, "what if someone hears you?" 

"I don't think that'll be a problem." Marco shrugged. "I tried talking to one of Garrison's men, out on the wall, but he didn't react at all. That's why I'm late." 

"What?!" Jean yelped. "Have you completely lost your mind? What are you thinking, you dumbass?!"

"Jean! Shh!" Marco held a finger up to his lips. "Other people might not be able to hear me but they can hear you! And you don't have to worry because I made sure I was hidden completely out of sight before I called the guy's name." 

"You're sure nobody saw you?" 

"Absolutely." Marco said confidently. 

"I guess… that's okay then," Jean said slowly, "as long as you were careful…"

"I'm always careful. One of us has to be."

"Fine," Jean groaned as he scrubbed a weary hand over his face. "But I better not find out that you also decided to check if you're visible to people other than me." 

"I don't have to," Marco said in his most reassuring voice. 

"Oh?" Jean dropped his hand and looked up. "Did you figure out something new?"

"Yeah." Marco nodded. "Coming down here ourselves is usually an absolute last resort and, in an emergency, the last thing you want to do is make it difficult for your rescuers to do their jobs. Right? So it wouldn't make sense if normal people could detect us."

"Huh. I guess there really is a manual built into that new body of yours," Jean said. "But you say that 'normal people' can't detect you? I wonder what's so different about me then." He looked down at his hands. "…Do you have something to do with this?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Did you do something to me when I wasn't looking?"

"Not a single thing. " Marco laughed and poked Jean in the chest. "This weirdness is all your fault. My powers and I have nothing to do with it. Access to your innermost thoughts? That's just—" he shook his head "—Now don't take this the wrong way, Jean, but I didn't think you were capable of trusting someone to this degree." The smile on Marco's face was small but the heat in his brown eyes more than made up for it. "I swear that you won't ever regret trusting me like this."

Jean reflexively began to wave off the embarrassing words, when he suddenly stopped and frowned. "Hold on. What do you mean the mind-reading is MY fault? Bullshit! There's no way I did it on my own. I'm human and humans can't do that."

"Well…" Marco sighed. "Okay, yeah, I might have a little to do with this," he admitted reluctantly, "but it really is mostly your fault. We should only be able to tell where our charges are, at best, and know if you're in horrible pain and dying or something. This whole… uh. We're—it's like that, you see?" 

Marco gestured vaguely at the space between them, as if that would explain everything, and made a hopeful face. Jean stared back blankly. Marco ran a frustrated hand through his hair and sighed. Of course Jean wouldn't understand from something as vague as that, Marco chided himself. Who would?

"Give me a few minutes to think about how to explain it," Marco said. "You should see the doctor in the meantime."

"What? Why should I… Oh!" Jean's expression brightened. "That's right. I nearly forgot. But, of course, you wouldn't." He threw his head back and laughed. "You are such a pervert." Jean smiled fondly. "Don't you worry, I'm sure it won't take long before I'm back to full health." 

Marco turned crimson all the way up to the tips of his ears and he shouted, "I am not! That's not what I'm after, and you know it, so stop bringing it up!"

"I don't know about that, man." Jean teased with an amused grin. "Seems to me that you're dying to fulfil that promise you made." 

"Get!" Marco pointed a finger at the door. 

"Going," Jean sang. He paused just long enough to send up a mental prayer that Hange Zoe was not the doctor on duty before he disappeared inside. 

The moment that door banged shut, Marco sank down to the ground and buried his abnormally warm face in his hands. Maybe he should have thought things through a little longer and weighed his options a little more carefully before returning to the mortal world. Marco didn't regret allowing their friendship to evolve to… whatever it was they had now (and he never would), but he couldn't help but wonder if he made a mistake. This peace was fleeting. They were happy now but what about later? Marco would have to go back eventually and he wasn't sure what Jean would do if he was left behind a second time.

Maybe, he thought grimly, it would have been easier on both of them if things had taken their natural course. 

Marco should have listened to the little voice that whispered "Jean will be okay without me" and "he can overcome this" and "he doesn't need more than your words and your memory to guide him". The right thing to do, the path he should have chosen to take, was to leave the affairs of the mortal world behind. It stung to know that Jean was going to leave him and their dreams behind. It hurt when he realized that, in time, not even a memory would remain. Because Jean was resilient. Even if his friend was too buried in grief to see it himself at the time, Marco knew that Jean would eventually accept the loss and grow that much stronger because of it. 

That was what should have been done.

That wasn't what Marco chose to do, because he wasn't as strong as he liked to act. 

"A quick peek can't hurt" was what Marco told himself because what was the harm in assuring himself that Jean was alive and would be okay? So he looked, and that was Marco's first mistake. He couldn't walk away after seeing the state his friend was in. The second mistake was realizing that he could hear Jean's voice and actually paying attention to the constant chattering – the requests for guidance, the pleas to watch over him and to guide them all to safety, the complaints about their friends and about life in the Scouting Legion, the silly anecdotes that nobody else wanted to hear… and the regrets. The daydreams. The fantasies about what life would have been like, together, in the Military Police. 

Jean was rapidly falling to pieces and not one of their friends noticed or cared enough to step in. 

"I guess I only have myself to blame for that…" Marco mused. 

"It's not that they didn't want to help. I didn't let them." 

Marco yelped, "Don't sneak up on me like that!" 

"Now you know how I felt," Jean said archly. "And, anyway, I've been trying to get your attention for a couple minutes."

"Oh." 

Jean took a seat on the ground next to Marco. He stared straight ahead at the wooden siding of the adjacent building. He didn't say anything when the tension finally drained away and the taller boy slumped against Jean's side. 

"Um. So, what did you mean by you 'didn't let them'? Why not?" 

A lazy half-smile crept onto Jean's face. He leaned back and drawled, "I dunno. Maybe because all of this was an elaborate gambit designed to trick you into coming back?" 

"Jean," Marco groaned wearily. "Please stop joking around." 

"Now why would you think that?" 

"There's no way you could've known I was planning to return before I found out that it was even possible!" Marco retorted.

"Hey, that's your problem. Not mine." Jean's smile turned into a smug grin. "All I did was make sure that you had sufficient motivation and reason to find a way back, quickly."

"I do hope you realize that I'm going to punch you if you're telling the truth," Marco said sternly. "It's not very nice to scare your friend—"

"Boyfriend," Jean interrupted. "Remember? Not just friends anymore." 

"Stop right there. I can already see where this is going." Marco rolled his eyes. "I'm both, you big idiot. Dating doesn't magically rob me of my ability to think about you in different terms – like how annoying you can be. Whatever's happening between us? The changes? All it means is that I love you as a boyfriend AND as my best friend. I felt this way about you long before I died, so whatever they did to me over there has nothing to do with how I'm acting now. Idiot."

"You don't have to repeat it," Jean said. 

"It bears repeating because you are an idiot!" Marco retorted. "Why in the world would you refuse to let the others help you? What were you thinking?!" 

"Gee, Marco, I really don't know." Jean snarled. "Maybe I thought the Scouting Legion has more important things to worry about than me?! Did you not see the state that Trost and Stohess was left in?! It'll take decades for the towns to recover, assuming Humanity even has that much time left! I'm hardly the only soldier around with problems and I don't want anyone's damn pity. If you can't accept that, then you can just fuck off!"

"Is that all you wanted to say?" Marco asked calmly. 

Jean's head was bowed low, almost touching his knees, and he gripped his hair tightly. He eventually grunted "yeah" and Marco took that as his cue to pull Jean into a crushing hug. 

"You're an even bigger idiot than I thought," Marco said softly. "If your complaining really bothered me, I wouldn't have become your friend in the first place." He sighed. "But if that's what you want, then—"

"I didn't mean it," Jean said suddenly, insistently, with wide-eyed alarm. "Okay? What I said doesn't count. I take it back!" 

"…What are you going on about now?" Marco frowned slightly as he tried to remember Jean's earlier words. Then he said "Oh," with laughter and understanding dancing in his eyes. "Jean. You'll need to use far stronger language than 'fuck off' to make me even begin to consider it a request for me to go back to Heaven." 

"I do?" Some of the tension in Jean's shoulders bled away and he smiled in relief. "That's great! But why?" 

"At this point, you blurting out rude things is pretty much background noise to me. I don't really notice it anymore." Marco smiled reassuringly and poked Jean in the forehead. "So stop worrying about every little thing. It's bad for you."

"It's been a really rough couple weeks," Jean mumbled. "Sorry you had to come all the way out here because I'm… me." 

"It's okay. It'd be more weird if you didn't somehow manage to cause me trouble," Marco said with a teasing smile. "But if you really do feel bad for causing everyone so much trouble, then you will accept my assistance without complaining. Got it?"

"In that case, I don't suppose you could help me back to my room?" 

"Is there something wrong with your legs?" Marco asked, wondering how he managed to miss something that major.

"No," Jean said with a shrug. "I just don't feel like walking anymore."

"So lazy!" Marco laughed. "Anyway, I assume this means that the doctor ordered you to get some rest. Is that right?" He waited until Jean confirmed the guess before continuing. "What else should I know? How's your shoulder? Ribs? What about the cuts on your hand?"

"It's fine. I'm fine. And you did a suspiciously great job." Jean waved his bandaged hand. "They think I'm the one with secret medical training and if they ever try to make me work in there, I'm ratting you out. It's your fault, so you can do it." 

"Hmm… pass," Marco said after pretending to consider it. "I'm pretty sure that the hospital staff wouldn't appreciate the extra work caused by an invisible nurse who's going around, accidentally giving the patients heart attacks. And nightmares." 

"That would be a problem," Jean said gravely. 

"It would," Marco agreed. "So? What else did the doctor say?" 

"The verdict is that, yeah, I'm pretty dented but there's nothing else they can do to help." Jean shrugged. "The good news is that my ribs aren't broken. The bad news is that they're fractured and, apparently, there's nothing anyone can do but wait for them to heal on their own. Same goes for the rest of me."

"Is that really it?" Marco asked. "You'd better not be hiding anything."

"How can I, now?" Jean scoffed. "The most they can do for me is hand out painkillers and keep my wounds clean. There's no point in me taking up a bed…" and increasing the risk of encountering Hange Zoe "…when we can handle all that stuff from the comfort of my room. Speaking of which, I don't know about you, but I feel like I can sleep for a week."

"Sleep sounds like a really good plan," Marco agreed. He helped Jean up, watched him try to stand on his own power, then moved in to support his unsteady friend. "You'll have to direct me since I've only ever seen you take the quickest route to the barracks and, well… you know." Marco jerked his head toward the sunny, and occupied, courtyard. 

"Oh… the 'can't see or hear me' thing. Right. I forgot about that." Jean nodded. "But, you know, you don't have to do this. You had a long day too and I know I'm not exactly light."

"It's alright." Marco assured him. "I can manage. Especially when the alternative is letting you injure yourself further."

"Well, if that's what you want… then, whatever. Thanks. It's this way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update. "Moving things along" scenes just aren't as much fun to write as action or silly fluff or banter... so it's really hard to resist the temptation to procrastinate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedroom negotiations, of some sort.

"Well, this is home," Jean announced as he strode into his room. "Come in and make yourself comfortable."

Marco stood in the doorway and looked around with a slight frown. It was smaller than his bedroom back in Jinae. The majority of the rectangular room was taken up by Jean's unmade bed and a desk with a pile of clothes and gear sitting on it, leaving a narrow space between them that was only wide enough for one skinny person to walk through at a time. Jean picked up the desk's chair as he passed and carried it across the room. There was a shuttered window on the far wall that overlooked a small open space that had a chest-style locker sitting in the middle of it. Jean set the chair down in front of the locker, which was currently being using as a coffee table, and sat down to pull off his boots. 

Marco bit his lip and shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I don't know if I should."

"What? Why not?" Jean asked. 

It wasn't likely that the problem was being alone together in Jean's room. Marco never had a problem with living in close quarters back as a trainee, so what was the real issue? The mess? Jean looked around. No, that couldn't be it either. This was much cleaner than he kept his assigned personal living space back in the trainee barracks. Sure, it didn't really seem like it with the way the room was— 

Jean's eyes widened as he finally figured out what the problem was. He coughed awkwardly to hide the laughter that threatened to bubble over at the sight of Marco and his wings taking up the entire doorway. Jean had no problems with the layout but it was obvious that Marco was concerned. It would be a bit of a tight squeeze until Jean had to the time to move a few pieces of furniture around but that was it. 

"I'm sure you'll fit." 

"I'm not," Marco mumbled. 

"Try anyway?" Jean gave Marco a reassuring smile. "Just take a seat on my bed for now. I'll rearrange some things and make more space for you a little later."

"Okay... but don't you dare laugh!" Marco pointed a finger threateningly. "I mean it."

Jean held up his hands in surrender. "I won't!"

Marco sighed. He reluctantly stepped inside and he closed the door behind him. Leaning against it, he eyed the pile of junk on Jean's desk that was already threatening to topple over. The room would probably feel less claustrophobic if Jean bothered to tidy up a bit but, unfortunately, that was one habit that Jean never picked up. It was going to be a very tight fit. 

Marco turned and shuffled into the room sideways. He tried to squeeze past the desk while stepping over the clothes and equipment scattered on the floor but despite his best efforts, it wasn't enough. Marco stumbled over an unseen item and fell. His hands wouldn't be able to catch anything in time to prevent a hard spill on the floor so instinctively, like a cat would with its tail, Marco's wings spread to restore his balance. He did manage to stop himself from falling but in the process of doing so, his wings swept the entire contents of Jean's desk and dresser onto the floor. The items clattered and clanked loudly, accusingly, before they all rolled away out of sight.

Jean burst into laughter that made his fractured ribs ache terribly. 

Marco cringed. His shoulders slumped with defeat and then, with exaggerated slowness, Marco tugged off his boots crawled into Jean's bed. He pulled at the jumble of sheets and pillows and unfolded clothes that was jammed up against the wall, trying to tangle them for a minute before getting frustrated and giving up. He settled for hugging his legs to his chest and sighing. 

"Jean, stop laughing. I'm warning you." 

But as he half-expected, the warning was completely ignored. Marco frowned and promptly stretched his wings out as far as the room would allow, sending loose papers fluttering away erratically by the displaced air. The left wing snapped out with enough force that it threatened to knock the brown-haired boy out of his chair and Marco sucked in a startled breath, ready to apologize for accidentally injuring his friend. Jean slapped a hand on the wall to catch himself and roughly shoved the speckled wing away. He was still laughing.

Annoyed, Marco pushed back and Jean ended up sputtering around a mouthful of feathers.

"Okay, I give!" Jean cried. 

"...Really?"

"Yes!" Jean grabbed the leading edge of the wing and pulled it away from his face, gently this time. "I'm sorry for laughing." 

Marco nodded, satisfied, and retracted the wing. He shifted around in search of a more comfortable position on the lumpy mattress. He looked behind to see how much space there really was on Jean's bed and, surprisingly, there was a lot. The bed was wider than the mattresses given to the trainees. With that much space available, Marco decided against keeping his wings folded up. He settled his wings so they were curled loosely around his body and waist, leaving the black-tipped light brown feathers fanned over his lap and the bed like a giant feathery quilt. 

"Your room," Marco announced, uncomfortably aware of the wings that marked him as something other than human and unsure how he felt about Jean's fascination with them. "Your room looked a lot bigger from above." 

Marco combed restless, fidgety fingers through the feathers as Jean watched. What was he doing, Jean wondered. Preening like a bird? A restless habit? Or maybe Marco was looking for a suitable loose feather to give as a gift just like Marco promised he would shortly after they were reunited. Jean suddenly realized he was staring for quite some time and the scrutiny was making Marco blush. Jean forced himself to look away and tried to focus instead removing the uniform with a busted shoulder and cracked ribs. 

It was a slow and painful progress that quickly drew Marco's fretful attention.

"You're thinking of the first room I was assigned to," Jean said.

He could see Marco's hands twitching with the desire to help. Marco even shifted toward the edge of the bed like he was going to get up to put the thought into action but a pointed glare from Jean's narrowed eyes managed to keep the freckled angel where he was. Reluctantly. Marco sank back down into the nest of blankets and clothes and pillows with an expression that made it perfectly clear that he did not like being denied the opportunity to be a fussy mother hen. 

"Is that so?" Marco's eyes were distant as he reviewed his memories of Jean's initial days in the Scouting Legion. "I guess..." He blinked and refocused. "But why would you choose to switch to this... this glorified closet? The other one was much nicer. And roomier."

"Yeah, it was," Jean agreed, "but I got sick of being stuck sharing a room with people who snore." 

Marco shook his head. "That's your reason?"

"It's a perfectly good reason," Jean retorted. "And, anyway, I like my privacy. Once I found out that the Scouting Legion has more rooms than they know what to do with, I played up the whole..." He made a vague hand gesture that could mean anything. "You know, night terrors and losing slowly losing my sanity angle. I kept it up until I scared everyone shitless and landed my own private room. Pretty good, huh?" 

"You shouldn't have done that," Marco said testily. 

Jean looked confused. "Why not?" 

"Why n—" Marco growled and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Accidentally talking to me all the time should have been enough. You didn't need to go out of your way to look truly crazy. I mean, honestly!" Marco's narrowed eyes glittered golden-brown. "You even had me worried. Me!" He slapped his chest. "The one who can hear your thoughts! If I was convinced that you were going to do something stupid and permanent if I didn't intervene, and fast, like on the mountain when— and the other—" Marco sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. "And now you're telling me it was all an act? Just so you could change rooms?"

Jean pointedly did not think about the true reasons behind his actions and chose to give a non-committal shrug rather than answer.

"You... you colossal ass!" Marco threw his hands in the air. "Why do I put up with you?!"

"Hey! Uh, well, what about you?" Jean crossed his arms. 

"What about me?" 

"Don't act like you're not at least a little happy that you don't have to worry about keeping out of the way of roommates who can touch but not see you." Jean leaned back in his chair. "So lighten up a little, will you? What's done is done."

Marco refused to be placated that easily and retorted, "This is serious, Jean! You shouldn't have acted like that. Now, your superiors are going to keep a close eye on you because they're worried that you're a danger to yourself or to others."

"Like they actually give a shit," Jean scoffed. "I'm not sure if you noticed, but dangerous people with serious mental problems are not exactly in short supply around here." He waved a hand dismissively. "It's good enough for them as long as we can follow orders and keep our issues from impacting our performance in the field." 

"If you don't care about what your bosses think, then what about our friends?" Marco leaned forward. "It looked like—no, I'm SURE they're worried about you too. I bet they're more concerned about you than me because they can't tell when you're joking and when you're serious. Especially since they can't exactly ask me to act as your interpreter anymore. You need to find a new—" 

Jean pressed his lips into a thin line. The chair gave such a loud clack, like a judge's gavel, when Jean righted it that Marco found the furious words startled right out of his mind. Marco stilled. He waited for Jean to speak but instead of a reply, the younger boy seemed content to let the uneasy silence to grow unchecked. The air felt thick and stifling with it. Marco could even hear the sound of Jean's bare feet hitting the ground when he sat up. The muscles in Jean's neck and shoulders stood out in sharp relief, outlined by coiled tension that made Jean's bandaged hands shake with emotion when he snapped the chest's locks and threw the lid open. 

The empty mug sitting on the lid hit the wall and clattered to the ground but beyond that? 

Silence. 

There was nothing but a tense and uncomfortable silence that grew heavier with every passing second. The silence was punctuated by the sound of Marco's rapid, shallow breaths and, from time to time, the clink of metal buckles from within the depth of the chest-style locker. Jean ducked his head and shifted to present the tense line of his back to Marco. Turning away. He was turning away. 

Anxious fingers began tugging at the feathers of the wing that lay in his lap. 

Marco wondered what he said wrong. Their argument didn't seem to be any different from the ones they used to always have, back when he was still alive and fully human, but he must have missed something. That was the only explanation. Marco blundered. He forgot that they were apart for months, separated by the wall of life and death, and with that sort of thing sitting in their past, it shouldn't be a surprise to discover that Jean changed. Jean wasn't the same person he used to be. Marco should have anticipated that things would be different, but he didn't. 

Instead, blinded by the happiness of finally being able to openly claim Jean as his, Marco shrugged off the warning signs. He picked at Jean's faults as if they were still back in the Trainee Camp where tomorrow was just another routine day and the near future held the shining promise of life together in the most respected branch of the military. Did he step on a landmine? Yes, Marco decided, he did. It was one he should have seen and avoided easily. He had to act quickly and carefully if he wanted to prevent the easy camaraderie he and Jean enjoyed thus far from being destroyed by careless words. 

"Jean?"

Jean's hands stilled for a second, indicating that he had heard, but his attention very pointedly did not shift away from chest's contents. Instead, Jean pulled out a change of clothes and set them aside. 

"H-hey. Come on..." Marco swallowed nervously and kept his voice gentle. "Look at me."

"Why?" Jean snapped, slamming the lid shut. "You got more to say?" 

"Yes. I mean, no! No, not if... I mean..." Marco sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

When Jean finally raised his eyes to look at Marco, what he saw made him scramble toward the bed in a panic. He seized Marco's wrists in a painfully tight grip and shouted, "What're you doing, you idiot?!" 

Marco made a soft noise in his throat and stared at Jean, whose anxious gaze was focused on their hands. Confused, Marco looked down and saw the source of his friend's alarm. Clutched in Marco's restless hands were brown feathers – a mix of soft ones meant for warmth and stiff ones meant for flight – that were spotted in places with blood where he had pulled too hard. Marco stared blankly. He shifted his gaze back and forth between the feathers in his hands and a noticeable patchy spot on his wing as if he couldn't figure out what happened. 

"Marco." 

Jean didn't relax his hands until the speckled brown feathers fluttered out from between Marco's fingers. 

"Um..." Marco plucked a fully intact flight feather from the pile and offered it with an sheepish smile. "Um, here you go. Y- you said you wanted one, right? Jean?"

Jean was tempted to refuse. He wanted to slap the feather and the apology it represented away but, seemingly of their own will, Jean's eyes slid over to study it. The body of Marco's feather was a slightly shiny faded brown, like the colour of stained wood, with a streak of black that ran along the edge like an ink outline. There was also an irregular scattering of tiny white speckles on brown that was probably meant for camouflage but ended up looking more like an inverse of the freckles on Marco's cheeks. It was actually quite pretty, despite it being such a boring and practical shade of brown. It suited him. Marco was a pretty boring and practical person at heart, after all. Flashy colours or bright white would look strange on him. 

Jean snatched the feather from Marco's hand, irritated that he was could be so easily swayed by a smile, and grumbled "What am I supposed to do with this anyway?" while twirling it between his fingers.

Marco relaxed into warm smile. "Turn it into a pen?"

"There's an idea," Jean said thoughtfully, "but nah. I'd better not. The paper they use here wears down quill tips insanely fast." He nudged the slightly plucked wing out of the way so he could sit down. "I'd need a replacement in no time."

"So?" 

Marco slipped an arm around Jean's waist and tugged him closer with the intent of freeing up enough space to rest his tired wings on the bed's surface again. When Marco woke up on the other side with two new appendages attached, he instinctively knew how to use them but the human body was not built to accommodate wings and as such, modifications were necessary. Marco managed to build up enough muscle to support the extra bulk before coming back to the mortal world but, unfortunately, being able to fly didn't make the wings any lighter. Or less awkward. Or weird to have attached to his body if he stopped to think about them for too long. Marco's back and neck muscles were in a constant state of aching pain and sitting like this helped take some of the pressure off them. 

So what if it looked kind of stupid? So what if no self-respecting angel would allow themselves to be caught sitting like this? It was comfortable! And besides, Marco thought cheerfully, taking up so much space had forced his overly self-conscious friend to sit closer than he normally would. Which, in this case, meant planting his butt in Marco's lap. 

Marco happily nuzzled the short hairs at the base of Jean's skull and murmured, "Anything you want, Jean, I'll gladly give to you. All you have to do is ask." 

Jean shivered. "Yeah?" 

"Mm-hmm." Marco's mouth began to explore the bared skin of Jean's neck.

"S-still..." Jean's words were clumsy and a bit breathless. "I'd feel bad you plucked a wing bald just 'cause I like how your feathers feel." 

"...They'll grow back."

"What?" Jean leaned away in surprise. "But didn't you specifically warn me to be careful because it'd take forever for them to grow back?" 

"I'm sure there's a trick to make them heal faster." Marco nodded confidently, but his voice was anything but sure. 

"Don't care," Jean said. "Think of some other present. I like your feathers attached to your body, where they should be, not scattered around my room as decorations." 

"Okay then," Marco sighed. "Do you have an fountain pen you're not using anymore? I could take it apart and use the nib to make you a sturdier quill." Marco gave a small huff of laughter. "A one-of-a-kind quill pen that's invisible to the naked eye... Wow, I keep forgetting I can't be seen by normal people anymore." He shook his head. "Jean, you'd better not use this pen in public or people'll really start to wonder about you."

Jean smiled. "But if I do, then I won't have to worry about people wandering off with my pens."

"...why are we talking about pens again?" 

"Becau— woah there!" Jean caught Marco's wandering hands before they could sneak any lower. "Geez, Marco, have you no shame?" He burst out laughing at the irritated frown on his freckled face at being thwarted yet again. "Now who's the impatient one?"

"I never claimed I wasn't," Marco said. "And I think I have been more than patient." 

"Oh yeah?" Jean watched the trapped hands flex, felt the power in them, and knew that Marco could've freed himself easily but had chosen not to. 

"Two years." Marco murmured as he leaned in to press an open-mouthed kiss to Jean's neck. "That's how long I've been waiting for permission." Marco nipped at the tense muscles and his boldness was rewarded moments later by the rapid pulse thrumming beneath his tongue. He smiled. "All I want right now is to touch you," he whispered hoarsely in Jean's ear. "Just a little? I promise that's all I'll do."

"Marco," Jean groaned, wanting to answer the desire pulsing through the too-warm body pressed against his back but knowing he shouldn't. "We won't be able to stop at 'just a little'... you know that, right?

"Of course I do," Marco retorted, offended. "Why do you think I stopped us the first couple times? Trying to have sex in a tree in the middle of Titan infested territory is not my idea of fun. Or safe. And then when I found out you were injured, possibly seriously? Even more reason to not let us get too carried away." 

"Uh huh." Jean said. "So what would you call what's happening right now?"

"Me having fun at your expense." Marco said brightly. 

And then, without warning, he shoved Jean's back just hard enough to unbalance him. Jean yelped and scrambled to stop himself from hitting the mattress or the floor with his face. He turned around with a confused and irritated frown that only deepened when he saw that Marco had taken advantage of the opening to crawl away. The freckled angel sat on the far side of the bed, hugging his knees to his chest and leaning into the corner so he could keep the tightly-folded wings tucked away out of grabbing range. 

Marco flashed Jean a cheeky grin and said, "You should go take your shower now." 

"Now hold on a second!" Jean protested. "You can't seriously be okay with stopping there!"

"You just said you didn't want me to get too carried away... so yeah. I am." Marco shrugged with feigned indifference. "...Well? What're you waiting for?" He made a shooing motion. "Go on! Don't worry, I'll be here when you get back." 

Jean growled. 

"Oh! And while you're out there, Jean, could you pick up some gauze on your way back? I want to rewrap your wounds with something more sterile than that stuff—" He pointed at the bandaged hand "—that's been sitting in the wilderness for who knows how many years."

"Marco..."

"Would you quit whining already? Go!" Marco pointed at the door. 

"Why're you so mad all of a sudden? What'd I do?" 

"I'm not— It's... It's nothing you did, Jean. It's just... Ugh." Marco groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "It's just that so much has changed so quickly, I'm really not doing a good job of keeping up. Coping. And I—" Marco looked down at himself. "I don't even know how much I can trust my body after what they did to it while I was out." Marco dropped his hands and curled up a little tighter. "And then there's my orders..." He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Jean." 

"What for?"

"I don't know. Everything?" Marco smiled sadly. 

"Don't." Jean grunted. "Don't want your damn apologies."

"...okay." Marco mumbled. 

Jean stared at the morose ball of feathers that Marco became and tried to think of a way to cheer up his friend, but Jean's mind was a total blank. All of the tricks he liked using back when they were both Trainees would just be another painful reminder of all that was lost – the future that they missed by a single fucking day – in Marco's current state. Jean wanted Marco to feel better, not worse, so he had to think of something else. The only other option that came to mind was finding the right thing to say that would instantly improve Marco's mood. Talking it out would logically be the next best choice... if only giving inspirational speeches was in Jean's skill set. It was not. Jean was more of a "poke holes in other people's plans and ruin their day" kind of person; Marco was the master of words.

Jean roughly scratched the back of his head and decided to just go with his gut. He scooped up the change of clothes that he picked out from the chest and tucked them under an arm. 

"Hey, Marco? I'm going to take a shower. In the meantime, I want you to stay here and, I don't know, take a nap or whatever. Just behave yourself while I'm gone. Okay?"

Marco made a confused noise and raised his head from his arms. 

"Behave? Me?" He said incredulously. "What kind of trouble could I possibly get into while you're gone? You're the only one that can see and hear me." 

"Exactly." Jean pointed at his desk. "So you see that? Leave it alone. Actually, don't touch anything until I get back. If you start dragging stuff around, people will hear the noise and then when they come over to investigate and see nothing, they'll think my room's haunted." 

"But your room IS haunted," Marco pointed out with a faint smile playing on his lips. "By me."

Jean rolled his eyes. "Yeah... but my neighbours don't need to know that. It's less of a pain in the ass this way." 

"If you say so." Marco cleared his throat and tried not to look too interested in Jean's answer. "So, neighbours? How close are they?"

Jean jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Connie and the others are across the hall." 

"I'll keep that in mind." Marco nodded but then, an unpleasant thought occurred. "Hold on a minute, Jean." Marco frowned. "The Scouting Legion thinks you're crazy... and putting you on the other side of the hallway is their idea of solution?" 

Jean glanced away. "It's like I told you. Even after hamming it up, my issues are considered small potatoes." 

"I don't like it." Marco grumbled and stretched out so he was taking up the entire bed. "They should be more concerned about their soldiers' mental health! But... but I guess there's only so much that a tiny military like the Scouting Legion can do." Marco rolled onto his side and sighed. "I guess I'll just have to pick up the slack."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Jean reached down and run his fingers through his friend's thick black hair. "You having to keep me out of trouble... huh." Jean smiled when Marco leaned into the touch with a hum of contentment. "This is almost like that plan we dreamed up two years ago, don't you think?"

Marco blushed and ducked his head, hiding behind the curve of a wing before mumbling "Yeah. I guess it is" in a voice so soft that Jean wasn't sure if the words were spoken or not. 

Jean watched the freckled angel for a few more minutes before deciding to leave him alone. Marco was either asleep or too embarrassed to talk but either way, the conversation was over. Jean reluctantly stepped away from the comforting warmth radiating from his friend and grabbed his towel from where it was hanging from a hook behind the door. 

He paused with his hand on the doorknob as the now familiar sensation of prickly anxiety began to build, objected loudly to the very idea of leaving Marco behind. Jean knew logically that it was a stupid and baseless fear but he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad would happen if they were apart for too long. It was just the grief and PTSD talking. It was just his imagination. Just like the unease Jean thought he could feel bubbling just beneath the surface of Marco's boneless sprawl. It was probably just a reflected echo of Jean's own negative feelings but, on the other hand, what if it wasn't? There was that weird mind-reading bond between them. What if there was more than just thoughts flowing through it? What if the anxiety Jean felt was coming from Marco? If that was the case...

"Marco, I'm just going to be gone for a few minutes. I won't be long, I promise, so try to get some rest. We can keep talking in the morning." Jean hesitated. "Okay? Marco?" 

"I'll be here." 

"Good," Jean breathed, "Good. Well... um. Okay then. I think I'll just get going then. Be back in a few." 

Feeling more than a little foolish for worrying so much, Jean decided to make a swift retreat before Marco could reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, wow, it's been a long time since I've updated this! Sorry about that. I was having trouble getting back into this head-space after spending so much time working on The Unwilling.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's difficult to keep secrets from a mind-reader.

Jean clicked the door shut behind him and left without stopping to check the room across the hall. Gossip travelled fast enough that the 104th would find out that Jean returned without him needing to make a special effort to tell them. There were more important things that needed his attention. Like getting clean. Jean felt grimy and disgusting and exhausted in every possible way thanks to the most terrible morning he ever experienced – a gruelling training session followed by helplessly watching people die again, running for his life, having an emotional reunion with a dead man, needing to kill a bunch of Titans with the aforementioned dead man (now boyfriend), and then dragging his injured butt all the way back to Headquarters on foot. A bath would go a long way toward making him feel alive again. 

After that... 

Jean wasn't really sure what task he should tackle next. He needed to grab some clean gauze for Marco. He also needed to scrounge up enough to feed two people, just in case, because he didn't know if Marco still needed people food or if the angels had other ways to sustain themselves. The doctors would mark their files that Jean Kirstein was still alive and checked himself in but it could take a while for news to get out. Jean probably needed to speak with someone else in charge so the Scouting Legion wouldn't accidentally mark him as Killed or Missing in Action and send out a letter of condolence to his parents. 

There were more things that needed to be completed before the day was done but nothing was coming to mind. All Jean could think about was how badly he wanted to back to his room. To Marco. Knowing that Marco was currently lounging in bed and waiting for Jean to return made it very, very difficult to focus on the boring day-to-day tasks. 

Jean didn't even realize that he stopped moving and was staring at the wall like it held the secrets of the universe until a sudden burst of foreign emotion (exasperation and amusement) prodded him into motion. It came from the place in his mind that Jean spent weeks trying to ignore because hearing voices that nobody else could was a very bad sign. Thankfully reality turned out to be merciful. It was not, as Jean suspected and feared, guilt for surviving where more deserving people did not manifesting in new and excitingly traumatizing ways. It was just Marco. 

Strangely, though, it was more difficult to understand Marco's words now than before.

Back when he and Marco were still stuck on opposite sides of the wall of mortality, communication had come so naturally and so easily that they must've spent weeks chattering away at each other before the epiphany hit. That they weren't talking at each other, but with. The imagined conversations were actual conversations. Jean would've guessed that it'd be even easier to communicate once they were on the same plane of existence but that didn't seem to be the case. What he received now was emotion and the impression of movement. Now, what Jean usually received were sensations so vague that it was little better than guesses based on Marco's personality. At other times – like now – things were so clear that it was actually creepy. It was knowing, somehow, that Marco was lying on his side with a blanket covering his bare feet and that those big brown wings of his were hanging off the side of a bed too small to stretch out comfortably on. Marco was too tired to care about details like that right now, so he just buried his face in Jean's pillow and breathed. Marco's thoughts felt fuzzy and warm, unfocused, like he was on the verge of falling asleep but—

It was a trick. 

Jean's face burned with a mix of embarrassment and paranoia. Marco was awake?! Shit, he was. Awake, alert, and paying attention. How close, Jean didn't know but he wasn't going to take any chances now that he knew how closely their minds were linked. Jean immediately emptied his mind of all inappropriate thoughts and counted the boards in the ceiling until he was adequately clean and fully dressed. The contentment radiating from Marco's end of the link had not wavered in the slightest but, tellingly, it was laced with amusement at catching Jean doing the mental equivalent of gawking. There was something else too, hidden underneath the warm exterior, and it was discordant like a piano with a couple keys out of tune. 

Jean couldn't pin the feeling down long enough to identify or even to guess if it was something worth worrying about, so he decided to just ask Marco for answers later and refocused on the outside world.

The first order of business was finding clean bandages. 

It was a pretty safe bet that Marco's primary goal wasn't health-related, but to get Jean out of the room long enough for the freckled nuisance to tidy up in peace. The bandages on Jean's hands did not need to be changed yet but Marco insisted, so Jean decided to play along. After all, it wasn't just Jean's room anymore. Marco was living there too and if cleaning made Marco feel better then Jean wasn't going to get in his way. Especially since it saved him from having to do it himself. 

Jean pushed open the doors to the cafeteria and headed straight for a table in the far corner.

There were many soldiers, not just Jean, who had a strong aversion to visiting the infirmary. The main reason people preferred to tend to their own wounds was because there simply weren't enough trained doctors enlisted in the Scouting Legion to meet the group's needs. That meant a lot of the simpler treatments fell to common soldiers with somewhat related skills... like Hange Zoe and her Titan research team, who were so good at cutting open bodies for their research that they were often pressured into doing basic surgeries on human beings. It was no surprise to learn that the more squeamish soldiers took to hiding medical supplies around the compound like a bunch of squirrels, just so they could avoid the medical building for as long as humanly possible. 

And like squirrels, they often forgot where they put things. That meant the supplies were up for grabs for anyone who stumbled across them. There was one such cache in the cafeteria. 

Jean sat down at the table in the poorly-lit corner and grabbed the old cigar box that currently being used to level out a wobbly chair. He opened it up and was immediately dismayed to see that it was almost picked clean of everything useful. Jean helped himself to the last roll of gauze and then, after remembering the blood on Marco's feathers, pocketed the almost-empty bottle of disinfectant solution. He put the box back and wiped his hands clean on his shirt, straightening from a crouch just in time to hear footsteps approaching at an alarming speed.

"You're okay!" Sasha shouted happily.

"No, I'm not!" Jean held up his hands in warning and sidestepped so the table was between them. 

Sasha skidded to a halt. Her arms, which were raised in preparation for a joyous tackle, fell to her sides. "You look fine to me?" 

"But I'm not," Jean repeated, firmly. He used his bandaged hand to point at the injuries as he listed them. "I have a mild concussion and my shoulder is messed up and, obviously, so is my hand. My ribs are probably not broken, only fractured—" In a flash of inspiration, Jean added: "But all these marks—" his hand switched from pointing at his ribs to pointing the suspicious bruises that Marco, in his enthusiasm, had left scattered all over Jean's neck and chest in hard-to-conceal places "—might be signs of internal bleeding or something more serious. They're not sure yet. I have to go back for another check-up later." 

"Wow," Sasha said, "you really messed yourself up." 

"Yeah," Jean said, grimacing at an unexpected jolt of alarm that could only have come from one source. That eavesdropping feathered worrywart. Stop hovering and just go to sleep already, Jean shouted mentally, I'm fine!

"Are you sure you're okay?" 

Jean stared at her. "Of course." He lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. "I'm not allowed to use my gear until they're sure the rib fractures won't turn into breaks that'll pierce my lungs, but other than that..." 

Reality fuzzed out and Jean found himself looking at Marco. Marco sat on the bed and glaring with eyes that glittered with an unsettling golden-brown light. He jabbed a finger into the mattress beside him and snarled "Get back here and rest!" and the vision disappeared with a snap. Jean blinked and the cafeteria came back into view. Along with a very worried looking Sasha.

Sasha lowered the hand she was waving in front of his face and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oookay. Time for you to go back to your room and sleep. Catching up can wait." 

Jean rolled his eyes. "Of course you take his side. But fine. Whatever." Jean waved a hand and turned away. "I'll go rest now." 

"Hold up there." Sasha's worried expression came back. "What do you mean by 'his side'? 'His' who?"

Jean froze, unable to decide if telling the truth would cause more trouble in the long run than lying. It wasn't a secret that the others thought Jean was suffering from a break from reality. Being caught talking to Marco didn't seem like a big deal at first – it wasn't that strange as far as grieving behaviour went, and Jean had lost a lot in the Battle of Trost – so they turned a blind eye to the oddness. But it didn't stop. It looked like Jean was getting worse and telling the truth would only serve to make him look even crazier. At this point, Jean would need a mountain of irrefutable proof to convince them otherwise and even if it was possible to find proof, Jean wouldn't be able to use it. He didn't want to get Marco in trouble. The existence of angels was supposed to a secret, after all.

There was no other choice but to lie. 

"The guy who examined me," Jean said. "I'm not sure if he was a nurse or what. I got out of there as fast as I could when I noticed the real doctor wasn't on duty."

Sasha nodded.

"So if that's everything... I need to go find something to eat." Jean glanced at the trays of the inattentive soldiers nearby. "I'm starving." Jean wondered if Marco would refuse to eat stolen food or, worse, make him give it back and apologize for stealing. "We left for training before the cafeteria opened so the last time I ate was yesterday."

"Yesterday? In that case, here." Sasha reached into a small cloth pouch hanging from her wrist and produced a whole apple. 

Jean eyed her and it suspiciously. "Okay, what's the catch?" 

"No catch, no strings," Sasha insisted. "Take it! I promise it's not super sour or disgusting or something."

Jean opened his mouth to argue but decided that it wasn't worth the time and effort to change her mind. Sasha always got really stubborn and opinionated when it came to food-related topics – starvation was one that never failed to get a reaction. There was definitely a story there but it was one she didn't want to share and Jean wasn't a close enough friend that he could get away with prying. 

"Fine! I'll take the apple if it matters so damn much to you." Jean stuffed it in his vest pocket. "Assuming you're not lying about the taste... thanks." 

They both fell silent. Jean watched Sasha closely, curious to see how long it would take before she would stop stalling and say what was really on her mind. He was pretty sure that Sasha wanted to say that they both knew the 'him' Jean referred to was Marco, but she didn't. Why? Jean didn't know. His best guess was that he looked so terrible that she thought making him stand around long enough to extract honest answers from would cause Jean to suddenly keel over and... well, not die, perhaps, but go unconscious and make everything worse. Something like that. Either way, her reluctance to push the issue gave Jean the opening he needed to make his escape and return to his room while she was distracted. 

But when Jean got back and looked inside, all he could do was sigh. 

Unfortunately, his suspicion earlier had turned out to be right; Marco had cleaned. All of the papers and books placed on top of the desk in no particular order. Dirty clothes were in a bag near the dresser while the clean ones were folded and stacked on the top, ready for Jean to put away in the proper drawers. Two sets of 3DMG, miscellaneous replacement parts, and the tools for maintenance were set out neatly on top of the chest-style locker. The only place the freckled menace left untouched was the floor between the desk and the bed, where it was too narrow for someone with Marco's physique to fit. The only reason it was left alone was probably because Marco would need to move the desk to get at it and that was the one thing he was specifically told not to do. 

"Really?!" Jean crossed his arms and tried to look angry, but he was too amused by his friend's fussiness for it to work.

Marco was currently laying his stomach with bare feet and legs covered by the blanket. His head rested on folded arms and his eyes were closed, as if he was sleeping, but the badly hidden smile tugging on the corners of his lips gave away the fact that he was awake. Marco turned his head and peeked up at Jean once the was door clicked shut. 

"I should apologize," Marco said by way of greeting, "I know I should've waited for you to come back first, but..."

"It's fine," Jean said, "it's your room too."

"O-oh." Marco's face turned pink and he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess it is now..." 

Jean glanced at the bed and saw that there was no room to sit down near Marco. His wings – which were as oversized and muscular as the rest of him – simply took up too much space. One of them was draped over Marco's body like a big fluffy feathered quilt while the other was positioned so it wouldn't get uncomfortably squished by his body's weight. As a result, the partially extended wing completely covered the surface of the (apparently) too-small bed, spilling over the side so the majority of it had to rest on the ground. 

Jean frowned at the sight and reached down to move the wing somewhere safer but as soon as his fingers brushed it, Marco rolled onto his other side. He lifted both wings out of reach. Moving them out of the way was probably Marco's true intention but Jean still felt strangely disappointed at being denied. Or at least he did, until he noticed that Marco had shuffled back – not much, because even folded the wings took up a lot of space, but enough to leave a conspicuous empty spot beside him on the bed. 

This isn't like him, Jean thought. 

Marco would never be so blunt normally. An unexpected reunion and long-awaited confession wasn't enough to make Marco lose himself in desire and forget himself, so, no, Marco wasn't just being a flirt. This was a diversion. Marco was trying to draw Jean's attention away from something else. But what? His anger, probably. Jean suddenly remembered how upset Marco got when he overheard Jean revealing the true extent of the injuries to Sasha – enough to start yelling at him through their mental bond – so Jean knew he should keep his distance. The smart thing to do would be to stay away until Marco's temper had a chance to cool off, but... 

But Marco looked good like that, relaxing in Jean's bed like he was supposed to be there. Really good. Something that was a trivial everyday occurrence in their Trainee days felt different now, somehow, even though the only thing that changed was a verbal confirmation of something they had both been aware of for years. There was something about the way Marco watched Jean with so much open and patient affection shining in his eyes that despite the obvious danger he could feel simmering beneath the surface, Jean couldn't resist the temptation. He sat down. 

"Closer," Marco urged, stretching so he could hook a finger into the nearest belt loop on Jean's pants. 

Jean swallowed. "Nuh-uh. No way," he said, even though his body was already making a liar of him by obediently scooting closer every time Marco tugged. "I'm not stupid. You're up to something. I know it." 

Marco wrapped his arms around Jean's waist and looked up, innocence shining from his face. "I just want a hug?"

"Bullshit." 

But when Jean tried to move away, Marco's arms would not budge. Not even slightly. Jean gave an over-exaggerated sigh of defeat. He was just going to throw his dirty uniform on the ground but a minute narrowing of Marco's eyes convinced him otherwise. Jean tossed the clothes onto the desk, kicked off his shoes, and moved to lay down next to the smiling angel. Jean's head barely touched the pillow before Marco made his move: rolling over and pinning the younger boy beneath him. Marco was mindful enough of Jean's injuries that he only put pressure on Jean's right side and held the left arm down in a very light (and easy to break) grip but then, after a second of contemplative silence, Marco decided he wanted an extra security measure to prevent escape and covered them both with spread wings. 

"I'm not going to run away if that's what you're worried about," Jean said. "You're not that scary when you're mad."

Marco's stunned expression that said Jean had hit the bulls-eye without even trying. "You tried to earlier," Marco mumbled defensively. 

"Your weird angel powers surprised me, that's all. And that was before I was convinced it's really you." Jean's grin widened the more embarrassed and uncomfortable Marco's expression grew. "I gotta say that I'm really flattered you like me so much that you'll react so strongly to seeing me do so little. Seriously, man. Are you pent up or something?" 

Marco turned his head to avoid Jean's eyes. He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "of course I am" but what Marco said out loud was: "It didn't feel right to do something so—" Marco glanced up "—you know. Crass. Over there. I was too scared. They watched me so closely that I didn't dare to do anything that made my interest in the living world—" and you, Marco's mind said "—too obvious until found a way back."

Jean felt his good humour draining away at the quiet admission. Marco was being monitored? Was that why his mood was so unstable? Why? What happened over there?

"Don't worry, Jean," Marco said quickly. "I'm not in trouble and nobody up there is watching me right now. I can tell."

"...'s this an angel thing?" Jean asked. 

When Marco didn't answer, Jean grabbed a handful of feathers – the only thing he could reach with the way he was pinned down – and tugged to get the older boy's attention. Marco jolted and he gasped. Then Marco's face went bright red. Wide chocolate-brown eyes stared down at Jean but it took a full minute before Jean's expression processed enough for Marco to understand what his friend actually wanted. Marco shook his head as if chastising himself and sighed. It sounded disappointed.

"Yes it is," Marco replied. 

Marco lowered himself so he lay beside Jean with only their legs touching. He was too worried about any other internal injuries Jean could be hiding to risk putting his full weight on him. Marco also didn't trust his own willpower. However, Jean didn't seem to appreciate the concern and instead, the younger boy wrinkled his nose in annoyance. He grabbed Marco's arm and yanked on it until they were once again touching from knee to chest. Marco's breath caught. 

"Y-your arm is going to fall asleep like this," Marco pointed out unsteadily. "These wings make me a lot heavier now than I used to be." 

"I'm fine with it. What, don't you want me underneath you?" Jean grinned. 

Marco's face, which was just starting to regain its normal colour, flushed anew. "Jean!" 

"What?" Jean said innocently, "You said nobody's watching us, right? So what's the problem? Well, aside from the whole busted shoulder and ribs thing..." 

"And the concussion," Marco added. "You didn't mention a concussion. Why not?"

"Because you're a mind-reading mother hen now? You'll see any signs of impending coma or whatever long before I realize something's wrong."

"I guess so, but..." Marco frowned. 

Jean felt a fragment of the freckled angel's consciousness slide into place at the back of his mind – hunting for lies of omission, most likely. It should have felt invasive or at least a little strange to have another person's mind sharing his own but instead, it felt...familiar. Comforting. It reminded Jean of times when the grief of nearly losing his hometown and actually losing his best friend became too much to bear. It was like the times when Jean, too stubborn to seek comfort from anyone else but the one whose self-appointed duty it was – the one who should've been at Jean's side and not scattered over a field near the crematorium. Jean turned inward for comfort from memories and imagined what Marco would say. 

Except it wasn't imagination. 

Now that Jean was thinking about it seriously, the link probably started to form before Marco was assigned as Jean's official and personal guardian angel. The process might have even started as early as a couple weeks after Marco's death because, in hindsight, Jean remembered suddenly getting lot of very pointed nagging from what he thought at the time was just the voice of his conscience mysteriously transformed into the voice of Marco (with fussy priorities to match). As time went on, the discrepancy between what Jean thought Marco should say and what the voice actually did that Jean decided to take a gamble on an impossibility. He decided to try tricking a dead man into coming back to life and, shockingly, the stupid plan actually worked. 

But then Marco came back and he reported that it wasn't normal for the bond between an angel and its charges to be so open that thoughts and feelings freely flowed in both directions. It was distracting and unnecessary and a liability. It would probably be safer if they could to break or weaken the link. Jean was strangely reluctant to give voice to the idea but, unfortunately, those reasons for his hesitation were too weak and nebulous for Marco to "overhear". 

"Jean. I swear I'll stay out of your head from now on if it bothers you this much," Marco said. "I promise." 

"Do you even know how?" Jean said, perhaps a bit too sharply, because Marco flinched. "Uh. Crap. Marco—" The presence in the back of Jean's mind disappeared, leaving behind a cold and conspicuous silence. "Hey, that's not what I mean!" Jean impulsively arched up and caught Marco's lips with his own, aiming to disrupt the angel's attention before he could successfully slip away. 

Marco murmured "Jean" dazedly, coaxed into lying back down by a plethora of heated kisses and touches.

"I really meant," Jean said a bit breathlessly, "was that I don't care if this... this mental whatever-it-is between us is permanent." 

Marco gathered enough wits to protest. "But just now, you said—"

"Look, Marco," Jean said sternly. "You already ferreted out all of my super embarrassing childhood stories when you were still alive. I only had one left and you got me to blab within – what was it, an hour or so? – of coming back so, trust me, I've got nothing left worth hiding. Snoop away." 

Marco didn't look convinced, but his presence did begin to creep back into Jean's mind. WHERE IT SHOULD BE, Jean thought pointedly and irritably, causing Marco to wince.

"You don't have to shout," Marco whined. "I'm right here."

"Don't I?" 

"No, you don't. I get it now." Marco sighed. "You really like having me inside you—"

"Uh huh?" Jean grinned. 

"—so I... I will..." Marco choked on air and his eyes widened comically. "I-inside your head, I mean! Mind. Inside your mind. You like me inside your mind. N-not inside you, inside you—" his words drifted off into vaguely a hopeful mumble "—unless you want me to?" Marco's shook his head sharply. "Sorry!" His face burned crimson. "That was way too forward of me. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything. Let's just go to sleep, okay? Okay. Goodnight, Jean."

"Hey." Jean grabbed Marco's shoulder, preventing him from rolling over to face the wall. "Relax, will you?"

Marco hid his face behind his hands. "Please let go." 

"No." Jean tried not to laugh at the glare Marco shot him though his fingers. "I'm not the same person I used to be. You can't scare me off, Marco. Remember how I reacted when you threatened to kill me?" Jean smiled when he felt Marco stop trying to escape. "Seriously, man. I wouldn't be trying so damn hard to convince you to fuck me –against doctor's orders– unless I was interested."

"I know your feelings for me are serious," Marco said softly. "I do. It's just... some habits are hard to break. I think I spent too long acting like my attraction to you was totally normal best friend behaviour—"

"Because only a true friend would make the effort to masturbate the way his voyeuristic best buddy likes listening to," Jean quipped. 

"So you were doing it on purpose!" Marco exclaimed. 

"Not at first," Jean said, because he only consciously realized what he was doing a few hours ago. "After a while, though? Yeah. I totally was. But admit it, Marco, you enjoyed it too."

"I- I will do no such thing! You, Jean Kirstein, are an ass." Marco growled when Jean grinned widely, looking far too pleased with himself for Marco's liking. "Do you have any idea how much sleep I lost, you jerk? Well, I hope you enjoyed all those crack-of-dawn training sessions because if I couldn't get a decent night's sleep then neither would you!"

Well there was one mystery solved, Jean thought. And he only had to wait for Marco to die before he admitted it.

"You know, that doesn't seem like very good revenge plan to me," Jean said. "All that extra practice turned out to be useful. You should've just broken my nose." 

Marco blinked rapidly, the anger startled right out of him. "What? Why in the world would I do that?" 

"Because I pissed you off?" Jean looked at Marco like he was the stupid one. "Anyone else would've just punched me or something and called it even. Going out of your way to help me defeats the purpose of getting revenge."

"I wasn't that sort of angry, Jean, just cranky." Marco stifled a yawn. "Just enough to want to make you suffer a little."

"You revenge did help keep me alive long enough for you to rescue me today, so thanks? I guess." 

"Okay. Jus' try not to make a habit of it," Marco mumbled. "...'s bad for my heart." 

Marco's wings shifted so they were resting on them more like a big warm downy blanket rather than what they were like before: physical restraints. Jean slipped his arms around Marco's waist, careful to avoid accidentally pulling out any of the puffed up soft feathers protruding where the wings were connected to Marco's back, and closed his eyes. It was comforting and nostalgic to be so close again after weeks of separation. Despite the brightness of the sun shining through the still-open window and the long list of things still left undone, it didn't take long for sleep to claim them both.


End file.
